


Snowfall Music

by phyripo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Family, M/M, Radio, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27460030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyripo/pseuds/phyripo
Summary: Eduard has enough to occupy him this Decemberwithouthaving to look after his young cousins, or trying to organize events on his radio show, or having to field strange phone calls day after day, but it seems the end of the year has it out for him.And somehow, Søren manages to brighten every dark day. Hopefully, he'll stick around for a while.
Relationships: Czech Republic/Vietnam (Hetalia), Denmark/Estonia (Hetalia), Finland/Sweden (Hetalia), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 6





	1. I. scarf

**Author's Note:**

> Advent fic!!!! I've wanted to do one of these for a while, and so here it is! I wrote most of this this in November, luckily, because December is the Busiest time at my job and I will be Tired. (Pls be nice to mail delivery persons)
> 
> Anyway, a chapter a day until Christmas, each day with a prompt that may be important or may just feature tangentially. (Most of them feature tangentially tbh) Also I see you looking at the Czech/Vietnam tag and wondering what's up with it. I just like them, that's what. They also feature pretty tangentially. (There are some more pairings but they're either v minor and/or I don't want to spoil them for plot reasons.)
> 
> FEATURING  
> Estonia - Eduard  
> Denmark - Søren  
> Ladonia - Lars  
> Sealand - Peter  
> Finland - Tuomi  
> Sweden - Torbjörn  
> Vietnam - Vinh  
> Czechia - Kveta  
> Lithuania - Tolys  
> and other characters who will be mentioned at the end of the chapter where are introduced!!

“Today on Radio 8, I have some pretty special guests on the show. Now, this was a surprise for me as well—” Eduard opens the audio channels of two of the other microphones in the studio— “but I’m excited they’re here, so welcome to my cousins, Pete—”

“Once removed,” Lars interrupts, raising his eyebrows and wrinkling his freckled nose as if he thinks Eduard is a bit dim. He probably does, come to think of it. The boy is just at that age.

“Alright,” he amends anyway, “my first cousins once removed, Peter and Lars. They’re my first cousin Tuomi’s sons. Is that better?”

“Yes,” Lars replies imperiously. Peter is rolling his eyes, and Eduard has to stifle a laugh while he turns on some background music.

“Their parents are on a trip out of town for the week, so Peter and Lars have been entrusted to Uncle Eduard for the time being— _first cousin once removed_ Eduard, I know, Lars, but I’ll start saying that when you start calling me that.”

“I will.”

“I don’t doubt it. Why don’t you two introduce yourselves, and then you can think of a song you’d like to hear.” He prays Tuomi hasn’t managed to instill too much of his taste in music in his sons just yet, because although they’re ostensibly a rock station, he doesn’t think his listeners are quite ready for metal that heavy.

“I’m Peter,” Peter all but shouts into his microphone, so Eduard lowers his volume slightly. “I’m twelve, and I, ah, I play hockey, I guess?”

That sounds about right.

“And Lars?”

“Well, I’m Lars, I’m also twelve, and _I_ have a _podcast_.”

“A podcast, really? What’s it about?”

“School and things,” he replies, and nothing else.

“That’s great,” Eduard enthuses anyway, because he does think it is. “You must be excited to visit the studio, then. Would you like to work in radio someday?”

Peter is shaking his head quite frantically and making slashing motions with both hands, but the damage is done, as Lars huffs, wrinkling his nose again and leaning in close to the microphone.

“Radio is _very_ different from podcasts. You just talk around the _music_.”

Eduard blinks. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

Eduard looks helplessly over at his production assistant, who seems uncharacteristically amused by the whole exchange, her eyebrows twitching ever so slightly.

“Where did you get that sass from?” He knows it must be Tuomi, unless his husband, Torbjörn, has very deeply hidden depths. And, before Lars can actually reply, “Peter, what should we listen to? What music do you like?”

Lars is opening his mouth, but Peter forestalls him, yelling, “Imagine Dragons!”

So Eduard starts a jingle as he lines up an Imagine Dragons song from the station’s playlist and an older rock song to play after that, pushing the slides for the microphone channels down. When he looks at Lars, the boy is just glancing away, attempting to seem disinterested in everything going on by crossing his arms and pressing his lips together. Eduard shakes his head fondly as he scrolls through some of the messages people have sent the show, including some asking if his cousins will help him judge his weekly dumbest pun contest, which he doesn’t imagine will benefit the already low bar for that one, so that’s perfect.

When he asks the boys about it, Lars starts to say something undoubtedly disparaging about how his podcast never has puns, but Peter quickly interrupts again. Eduard is around them enough that he knows this has been their usual behavior for the past few years, and more often than not, the brothers remind him strongly of himself and Tuomi at their age. They always were more like siblings than cousins, and when their older cousin Erzsébet was asked to babysit, she never seemed inclined to stop them.

Granted, he wasn’t doing podcasts when he was twelve, but he does remember using the house phone to call the local radio station multiple times until his parents started threatening to take the phone bill out of his allowance, and then how was he going to buy CDs? The radio show hosts actually wondered what happened to him after a couple of days without word and his parents had to call in to explain. It’s a fond if embarrassing memory.

The show continues in a slightly messier fashion than usual, mostly due to Peter’s attempts to interrupt every single sentence his brother starts to say and Lars stubbornly talking over him, but it’s fun. Eduard reminds himself to make a compilation or something to give Tuomi and Torbjörn when they get back home.

He lets Lars pick a song as well, as his afternoon show nears the end of its first hour. While the mildly surprising requested obscure progressive rock plays, he becomes aware of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Turning, Eduard huffs a laugh when he spots the sheepish-looking freckled face peering through the studio’s windowed door.

“Boys,” he says, ignoring that Lars just glares at him for daring to interrupt his very intent listening, “looks like your uncle finally showed up.”

Peter’s face lights up when he sees the man on the other side of the door, waving enthusiastically. Søren waves back, face splitting in a grin. Although he is Torbjörn’s brother and not a cousin, he doesn’t bear much more resemblance to his brother than Eduard does to Tuomi. He’s tall, but not as tall as Torbjörn is—or Eduard, for that matter—and his eyes are a darker blue pronounced by nearly-black eyebrows that don’t match his coppery hair at all. Eduard has always thought of him as not _handsome_ necessarily, but definitely interesting, and he’d be lying if he said he minded having to look after his cousins with the man.

They’re not close, but he and Søren have spent some time together, albeit mostly when Tuomi and Torbjörn needed someone to look after their sons for a while.

Now, Peter is moving his hands in a flurry of signals Eduard can’t make much of, except that he points at him at the end, and Søren is quickly signing back, his eyebrows jumping wildly.

“He can come in, you know,” Eduard tells Peter, slightly bewildered. He ignores the annoyed look his production assistant is giving her soundboard. At least, he thinks it’s annoyed. It can be hard to tell, with Vinh.

Peter dashes to the door to let in his uncle, who ruffles the boy’s unruly blond hair, waves at Lars—who ignores him—and grins at Eduard with a sheepish edge to it.

“Hey,” he says, “thanks so much for looking after ‘em! Sorry I couldn’t get there in time. Hope they didn’t cause too much trouble for you.”

“Lars is having _loads_ of fun,” Peter declares, then proceeds to duck out of the way when Lars throws a wad of paper at his head. Eduard shrugs at Søren.

As Lars’s song ends, a commercial break begins, and Vinh wanders away to grab some tea and probably gossip about him with the other hosts, so Eduard puts his headphones down and turns his attention fully to Søren. The man is dressed in the same leather jacket he always seems to be wearing and a _T-shirt_ , but doesn’t appear to be cold in the slightest. He has stuck both hands into the pockets of his jacket, but he still moves them wildly when he speaks. A backpack is slung over one shoulder.

“Thanks again. I really couldn’t get out of work, so I’m glad you could take the boys to yours.”

“Of course, no problem.” Eduard pushes his glasses up. “We did have fun, right, boys?”

Predictably, the response is lackluster, since Peter and Lars are too busy swatting at each other with Eduard’s papers.

“I promise we did,” he tells Søren a little forlornly, receiving a full laugh in response, blue eyes glittering in the studio’s bright lights and crinkling up at the corners.

“One day, they’ll learn to appreciate us, Eduard.”

The dubious expression he pulls in return must be funnier than he imagined, because Søren laughs again, extracting a hand from his jacket to clasp his shoulder. He smells pleasantly like the winter air outside, and like hair gel.

“I aspire to help ‘em keep as many secrets from their parents as possible, so they’ll be forever in my debt.”

“You have to wonder if that’s worth incurring Tuomi’s wrath.” Eduard turns back to his soundboard and patches the newsreader in from another location.

“I can take Tuomi.”

“I think that’s your brother’s job.”

Søren makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh and that makes Eduard grin, shaking his head.

“Are you staying for a while? The boys have a pun contest to judge, and I’m sure my listeners would like to hear from you.”

“Sure, sounds great,” he says, his grin softening surprisingly. “I just gotta ask you to keep the background music to a minimum, if you can.” He gestures vaguely at his ear, and Eduard remembers something.

“Right, you don’t hear so well, do you?”

“Practically deaf without my hearing aids, kind of a bummer when you’re on a radio show, I imagine.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling up.

“That’s why pa taught us sign language,” Peter pipes up. “Dad is so bad at it. Uncle Søren, I’d like it if you stayed.”

“Sign language,” Eduard repeats, because of course that’s what that was, but also, how has he never realized that before now? He’s more-or-less known Søren for over fifteen years by now. “Well, I’ll watch the music. Let me know if it still bothers you.”

Vinh returns just as the short second commercial break is ending, inclines her head towards Søren, who waves and does not seem the least perturbed by her lack of outward response, and they set off on the second hour of the show. Eduard lowers the volume of the background music to nearly zero, gesturing at Vinh to leave it.

“While we were away, my _first cousins’ once removed_ actual uncle finally showed up, after he _promised_ he’d pick his nephews up from school—”

“Hey,” Søren interrupts, “you’re painting me in a bad light here, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“It’s the light of truth.”

Astonishingly, Lars snickers at that. He apparently doesn’t care who gets made fun of as long as it’s not him.

“Well, he’s here now, so hello, Søren. He works for the same company my cousin does, so… Is it your fault that we’re saddled with these kids now?”

“Well, I did introduce their parents to each other, so I suppose…” Søren winks at Peter, who sticks his tongue out. “Hey, Eduard, I hear these two got to pick a song to listen to. Do I get a go at that?”

Eduard laughs. “No, no. You need to do a better job of picking them up from school for that. Maybe next time. Actually, I think we’re overdue for some Christmas music. It’s December, after all!”

Peter crows triumphantly. Søren just grins, shaking his head at Eduard, who shrugs in turn, amused.

The hour goes by fairly quickly. Søren animatedly asks the boys questions about their school day during songs that even Lars answers sometimes, and Vinh doesn’t seem to mind him, which is high honor.

By the time the host of the early evening show has arrived and is setting up her stuff while the last song of Eduard’s show plays, he has received quite some messages asking if his cousins or their uncle, who, according to one of his frequent listeners, ‘sounds like a rad dude’, will return. He gestures Søren over from where he’s now already making merry conversation with his colleague, who looks more bewildered than anything.

“What’s up?”

“Well, it seems my listeners like you more than they like me.” Eduard gestures at his computer screen, and Søren grins as he leans over next to him to read the messages. He’s taken his leather jacket off. There are freckles on his bare arms too, and he is making Eduard cold just by looking at them.

“Y’know, the only way to make ‘em rethink that _is_ if I do come back, ain’t it? I can just be an all-round terrible co-host.”

“I like that idea,” Eduard replies, before turning his microphone on as the song ends. “Bruce Springsteen and Born to Run, and it’s the end of another afternoon. Kveta just got here—” he turns his attention to the next host, who nods— “Kveta, anything we can look forward to today?”

“No family members, I think, unless anyone wants me to prank call my stepbrother again.” She laughs. “I’ve got some great new tracks, and there might be some live music going on.”

“Very nice.”

“Of course. So, Eduard, are _your_ family members coming back?”

Søren, who is still next to Eduard, pokes him in the side, then leans further forward to speak into his microphone.

“I’ve always dreamed of being a radio star.”

“I think he’s coming back to usurp me.” Eduard turns to Søren, almost poking his nose into the man’s spiky hair. “He’s already using my mic. And who knows what Peter and Lars will do, they’re twelve.”

“I guess that’s true,” Kveta replies. “Wow, Eduard, he’s really up in your face. I feel like someone should be shielding your cousins’ eyes.”

Peter laughs from where he’s now standing next to Vinh, peering at her screen. Vinh raises her eyebrows at Kveta, who smiles, bites her lip, and looks away. Eduard has to smother a laugh.

“Again, they’re twelve. And I think it’s time we all start heading home, so I’ll leave you to it, Kveta. Please don’t bother your stepbrother too much.” He tilts his head towards Vinh, quirking his mouth, and Kveta glares but sounds upbeat as ever when she replies.

“Can’t promise anything. Now, next hour, we’re starting off with some new music, so stay tuned. Eduard will be back tomorrow afternoon at four.”

The commercial break starts, and Eduard sets about packing up his things, gesturing Peter away from Vinh so Kveta can talk to her a bit before her own production team takes over. Most days, he’d stay at the studio for a while, but he decides to go home right away—Lars and Peter left some of their school supplies at his house that they’ll probably need tomorrow. So, after saying goodbye to Vinh and Kveta, he herds his cousins and Søren out of the studio and towards the elevator, which they ride down to the parking garage. Søren swings his backpack around and pulls out a knit red scarf.

When they reach the garage, the man grasps Eduard’s shoulder as they exit the elevator, stopping him in his tracks. The boys are already racing towards the car, which Eduard also wouldn’t have taken on most other days, preferring to use the bus, but he figured it’d be smarter to take his cousins that way.

“Hey,” Søren is saying, “I biked here, so—”

“In this cold? Do you want a lift?”

He blinks. Scratches his temple.

“There’s a bike carrier on my car,” Eduard adds. “It’s pretty new, I—”

“Uncle Eduard!” Peter calls, waiting by the back door of the car. Eduard holds up a hand—while Lars reminds his brother it’s _first cousin once removed Eduard—_ and pulls the key fob out of his bag to unlock the door for him, then turns back to Søren.

“It’d be no problem; I could take you all over to your place after we stop by my house.”

“We should do dinner,” Søren says, à propos of nothing, his face bright in the gloom of the garage. “Yeah? I owe you one. What kinda food d’you like?”

“I… No, it’s fine, they’re my cousins, it was no trouble at all! I don’t need anything, Søren.” Eduard laughs awkwardly, fiddling with his glasses and looking towards his car. Peter is peering over the backseat.

“We could take the boys out somewhere—this weekend, maybe, before Tuomi and Torbjörn get back. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.” His hand, still on Eduard’s shoulder, squeezes gently with every other word as if Søren is trying to get his usual gestures across that way. Or, now that he thinks about it, those are probably actual signs. He smiles.

“Well, maybe. I don’t have a show on the weekends.”

“Yeah?” When he pulls his hand back, Søren’s fingers glance off Eduard’s neck. They’re warm. “I’m sure we can find something even Lars will approve of.”

That sounds dubious, but Eduard will hold out hope. Søren agrees to a lift, though, and they figure out how to put his bike on the carrier without difficulties before piling in and driving over to Eduard’s house.

Søren traipses inside after Lars and Peter, peering around curiously.

“Nice place,” he tells Eduard, who waits in the hall while his cousins collect their things. And, “Hey, you should stay for dinner at mine.”

“Søren…”

“Just sayin’, why eat here all by your lonesome when there’s plenty of food at mine? You gotta go there anyways.” At this, he pokes Eduard’s arm gently. “I mean, if you need some alone time after dealing with those two, I ain’t judging.”

Huffing a laugh, Eduard shakes his head. “I don’t know how Tuomi and Torbjörn do it.”

“Together, and with practice, I guess. Wanna come?”

Eduard contemplates it for a moment, looking into the living room and thinking about the leftover spaghetti he has in the fridge.

“Alright. Thank you, Søren.”

Søren smiles, softer than seems to be the norm for him, his cheeks dimpling gently. It’s like a little ray of sunshine on a December day.

“Boys!” he yells, clasping Eduard’s shoulder again when he winces. “Sorry. I’m no good at regulating my own volume.”

Lars is glaring at his uncle, having already been standing in the doorway to the living room with his school bag in hand and having heard him loud and clear.

“Sorry,” Søren repeats, this time signing it as well, putting his hands together as if in prayer.

“ _What_?” Peter yells back from somewhere else. Seconds later, he skids into the hall, his sneakers leaving black marks on the wood floor. “What.”

“Eduard’s coming over for dinner. Got everything?”

They both nod, and Peter claps Eduard on the back as they all head back out. Søren laughs. He takes his scarf off when he gets into the car this time.

“Hey, are you allergic to anything? Or vegetarian?”

“I’m not, don’t worry.” He checks over his shoulder that his cousins have their seatbelts on, then starts his car. “I mean, I don’t eat a lot of meat these days, but I won’t say no.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s good. I oughta be better at that.”

With Søren’s instructions—gestures included—Eduard finds his building on the outskirts of one of the older suburbs easily. Søren tosses Lars the keys to his apartment and the boys run off while Eduard helps him get his bike down from the car, then waits while he parks it somewhere in the shared storage space.

“Alright! C’mon, Eduard, I don’t really want ‘em to break my kitchen down.”

After taking the stairs, they reach Søren’s apartment on the second floor. The door has been left open, and little lights twinkle around the frame.

“Hey!” Søren says, surprised, as Eduard curiously looks around the narrow hall. It’s much neater than he somehow expected, probably just because of Søren’s slightly chaotic mannerisms. Since he sees that his cousins have lined their shoes up by the door, he takes his own off as well, putting them next to Peter’s.

Entering the living room, he understands Søren’s surprise. Peter and Lars are rushing to set the table, apparently trying to outdo each other in speed. There is a tiny Christmas tree on a dresser that suddenly seems quite precarious.

“Be careful,” Eduard says, a little feebly, and Peter grins at him, his hands stacked with far too many plates for four people. It seems to be going alright for now, so Eduard leaves them be to seek out Søren.

“Uh, Søren?” He walks into the kitchen. It’s a surprisingly large space, and Søren already has some pans out and is reaching up for a cutting board. He doesn’t appear to have heard Eduard over the clattering happening in the living room.

“Are you sure about… That?” Eduard asks, when the man has a hold of his cutting board and spots him.

“What, the boys? They’ll be fine.” Something crashes loudly, and Søren pulls a rueful face at the door. “I jinxed it.”

“We’ve got it, Uncle Søren!” Peter yells.

“I’m gonna just… Hey, Eduard, can you get some water boiling while I go check on that?”

“Of course,” he replies, holding a thumb up. Søren pauses on his way out of the kitchen and smiles.

“Of course,” he repeats, moving his hand forward while he first holds just his pinkie up and then opens his whole hand. He does it again, slightly slower, and Eduard tries to replicate the sign. “Hey, great!”

Before he rushes off to assess the damage, he makes an okay sign with one hand.

Eduard fills a pan with water, assuming it’s for the rice Søren’s put on the counter, and turns the stove on to heat it. Søren returns quickly, carrying almost all of the plates Peter was hauling around.

“I think Tuomi and Torbjörn are raising ‘em too well,” he says, putting the plates away. “I don’t think I ever voluntarily set the table until I moved out. Can you slice these peppers?”

Eduard can, while Søren pulls some chicken out the fridge to fry it.

“They’re just hungry. Besides, didn’t they just break a plate?”

“Just the one, it’s fine. I definitely wouldn’t have done a chore if I was hungry. Gotta wonder how Torbjörn turned out so decent.”

“Keeping you in check?”

Søren laughs heartily at that, leaning his hands on the counter so that his shoulders shake visibly. He’s just in his T-shirt again, and Eduard can see now that it is merch of a band he plays sometimes and likes well enough, although he wouldn’t call himself a fan. He slices the bell peppers and some cauliflower, and smiles as a delicious spicy scent fills the kitchen a while later.

Peter sidles into the kitchen as Søren covers the pan to let it simmer for a while. He looks like he’s about to lift the lid again.

“Hey, hey, watch out,” Søren says, pulling his hand away. “That’s hot.”

“I just wanna see.”

He’s always done that, as far as Eduard knows. He can clearly recall a load of pictures of toddler Peter pressed up against the glass of ovens and washing machines and microwaves. He wonders when he’ll grow out of it, or if he’ll be like Tuomi, who still watches whatever he’s cooking for at least ten minutes, but then Tuomi is bad at cooking and might just be making sure it’s not going to explode.

Peter stubbornly crosses his arms and stares at the pan.

“Are you planning on staying there?” Søren asks.

“Probably,” he replies brightly, turning his head to address his uncle. Søren throws a fond smile at him and ruffles his hair before he can duck away.

“Eduard, by the way, I still think we should get dinner this weekend,” he says, pointing a finger at Eduard, who accepts that with a helpless gesture, mostly aimed in an amused Peter’s direction.

“Is that where you get that stubborn streak from?” Eduard asks him, and both Peter and Søren burst out laughing at that.

“It’s like you’ve never even met his parents!”

“Pa says no one is allowed to play Monopoly anymore.” Peter shrugs. “Not that I wanted to, Monopoly’s boring, but Lars got real upset about it.”

“Dad stole all my hotels!” Lars yells from the living room, sounding extremely indignant. Tuomi really _is_ that sort of person, Eduard thinks, glancing at Søren in amusement, but Søren is narrowing his eyes and looking at Peter questioningly.

“Dad stole Lars’s hotels,” the boy relays, and Søren nods, now returning Eduard’s look.

“No Monopoly, got it. I’m sure I got some other games, though, we’ll check it out later.”

Peter grins, nodding. Eduard fears that both his cousins have inherited Tuomi’s competitiveness.

Dinner is good. Eduard is used to eating by himself, or sometimes with Vinh or another coworker, often the early afternoon duo—he tends to spend that time looking at his phone, or, in the latter case, trying to mediate yet another argument between them. It’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of just listening to music or reading news articles.

Søren still gestures wildly while he’s eating, cutlery and all, sometimes even half-forming signs, but he somehow manages to avoid flinging any food as he does so. He says it’s an acquired skill, then launches into a story about throwing soup into Torbjörn’s hair when they were teenagers that has Peter laughing so hard he nearly chokes and Lars, in turn, yelling at him not to throw up or he’ll kill him.

“I’m _not,_ ” Peter replies, glaring fiercely even as he breaks out in a hacking cough again, and then quickly signs something at his brother that makes Lars glare back. They definitely inherited _that_ from Torbjörn. Eduard gently claps Peter’s back, and even though he doesn’t think it’s helping much, Peter eventually quiets. His breathing settles back into a normal rhythm, and he takes a large gulp of his water.

“Peter, don’t confuse your cousin,” Søren says, making a downward slashing motion with both hands.

“Sorry, Uncle Eduard,” Peter tells him. He picks his fork back up.

“It’s fine,” Eduard replies, after realizing Søren is talking about Peter using sign language, which he doesn’t understand. Lars, on the other side of the table, rolls his eyes and touches his hand to his shoulder, which makes Søren sigh and shake his head at him.

“It _is_ difficult, Lars.”

Eduard gestures for him to leave it be—wondering as he does so what his gesture might actually imply—and Søren doesn’t say anything else about it, but he does grumble, later, while they load the dishes into the dishwasher, that he _knows_ his brother made it a point that they shouldn’t use sign language to exclude anyone on purpose.

“Probably ‘cause our parents had the same rule,” he explains, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. His T-shirt stretches across his shoulders, quite nicely, Eduard thinks. “Although that was mostly ‘cause we were better at it than them. Still are, and my mom would still put me in timeout too, 39 years old or not.”

“That sounds fair. I really didn’t mind, though.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, y’know?”

There is a ruckus from the living room. Søren raises his dark eyebrows questioningly.

“They’re, ah… They’re arguing over which game they want to play.”

“Yeah, that seems about right. Are you staying longer or are you heading home?”

“I should probably be going, I like to do some preparations before I go to sleep.” He adjusts his glasses. “Thank you for dinner. You’re always welcome at mine, too.”

“Might take you up on that, Eduard.” Søren runs a hand over his hair and pushes away from the counter. “I’ll probably see you around before the end of the week, I need your help with those kids.”

“Like I said, their parents do it together too.”

That gets him a lopsided grin and a wink that he doesn’t know what to think about but quite likes anyway. Eduard goes to collect his coat and shoes, bids his cousins a good night before they both try to convince him their choice of board game is the right one, and heads out. Søren walks him down to the parking lot.

“I’ll see you, then,” he tells the man, biting his lip when he gets another lopsided smile.

“See you ‘round, Eduard.” He waves shortly when Eduard pulls up in his car, illuminated for a moment by the headlights as he turns off the parking lot. Still just in his T-shirt.

Back home, Eduard leans over to get his papers out of the glovebox, and his hand brushes against something soft. Blinking, he picks it up from the passenger seat and lets the soft wool run across his hands. Søren’s scarf, he realizes, and takes it inside with him.

He’s sure he’ll have the opportunity to return it soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Den is one of those characters I just get a lot of random headcanons about (Est is also one, to be honest), and one of them has been for a long time that he's hard of hearing, but what really made me incorporate that into my view of him was a contestant on a previous season of the Dutch version of the Great Bakeoff, who just reminded me A Lot of him and was also hard of hearing and had a sign language interpreter on the show! He was just the absolute sweetest guy. 
> 
> In this universe, the sign language is Danish Sign Language, even though this _probably_ doesn't take place In Denmark :> Since Est doesn't know sign language, I just have to describe what it looks like, and if the signs are wrong you can blame [this site](http://tegnsprog.dk). (I don't see why they would be!) This is the one and only time in my life it has ever been useful that I know some Danish rip
> 
> Anyway that's just some notes about that! I hope you like the story and my weird headcanons! :D


	2. II. dancing

“Eduard!”

He quickly stuffs the last of his sandwich into his mouth and takes a detour to the reception desk.

“Hi, Iryna. Is something the matter?”

The receptionist drums her fingers against her desk. With the other hand, she holds up a Tupperware container, which contains some appropriately winter-themed cookies. Eduard takes one.

“Someone called for you.”

“Really?” He absently puts his cookie in his jeans pocket. Iryna throws him a very stern look, so he pulls it back out. “What did they want?”

“I… Don’t know. _Honestly_ , Eduard, how old are you?” As she turns around in her chair and starts looking through her drawers, she continues, “It was odd, really. This man called, about two hours ago. Said he wanted to talk to you. Here you go.”

She hands him a small plastic bag.

“But he didn’t say why, and when I asked his name so I could take a message, he just started mumbling. Then, he asked for your phone number.”

“ _What_?” He almost drops his cookie, and finds himself leaning over the reception desk as if he didn’t hear Iryna correctly, even though he knows he did.

“I didn’t tell him, of course!” She shakes her head, short blond hair tumbling around her face and catching on the scarf she’s wearing against the draft from the station’s front door. “I didn’t like it much. Do you have any idea who it could have been?”

Leaning on the counter, Eduard frowns so hard he dislodges his glasses, then shakes his head ruefully. If it’d been a woman, he might have—well, he might have hoped, maybe, as to who it could be, but a man…

“He really didn’t say anything else?”

Iryna shakes her head. Eduard thinks about how if this was a movie, he’d ask if she heard any background noises and they’d probably extrapolate the caller’s exact location from a birdcall or something like that, but he’s just a man who talks on the radio—as Lars would put it—and she’s just a receptionist, so he only asks if she knows the phone number, and she shakes her head again.

“The call was anonymous. Most of them are, really.”

He sighs.

“Sorry to bother you with it, Eduard.” Iryna holds her container of cookies up again, invitingly. Eduard isn’t entirely sure it will make him feel better, but he takes a snowflake-shaped one anyway. Although he and Iryna are about the same age, she isn’t any less motherly to him than any of the younger people around. It’s nice, most of the time.

“No, thank you for telling me. Let me know if it happens again, please.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Iryna. I should go and meet my team. They’ll be upset if I’m late.”

For some reason, that makes her laugh while he hurries away, and he hears her call after him, “You’re _always_ early, Eduard.”

Well, alright, so maybe no one else _is_ there yet, but it’s the principle of it. They only have two official meetings a week anyway.

“Iryna has cookies?” Vinh says as she comes into their meeting room, and turns around before Eduard can reply. A minute later, she returns looking quite pleased with herself, if the set of her shoulders is anything to go by.

The content of the meeting quite escapes Eduard’s attention without his notice, unfortunately, caught up as he is with whatever that man might have wanted with him. And whoever that man _was_. He will have to read Vinh’s notes later; December is always a hectic time at the station, so he probably should know what they’re going to be doing next week.

He almost trips over his own feet on his way to the studio when his phone buzzes. Ignoring Vinh’s glare—he isn’t on air yet; he can buzz all he wants—he checks the screen with trepidation.

Hopefully, no one hears the way he almost reverently breathes, “ _Søren_ ,” when he realizes the man has texted him, asking if he knows the whereabouts of his scarf.

_You left it in my car_ , Eduard replies, leaning against the wall outside the studio. _It’s at my house now._

_Oh good!! It’s cold out! Can I come by tmrw to pick it up?_ And, before Eduard can type an answer, _Actually! I’m goin to the mall w the boys tmrw. Wanna come?_

_Don’t they have school?_

_It’s teachers day or smth… I don’t super know really_

Eduard laughs out loud, feeling much less tense all of a sudden. Maybe, that’s just the effect Søren has on people.

_We’re goin in the morning so that should work for you right_

_I’d like to!_ Eduard texts him. _Let me know the time and place, I have to go now._

_Oh your shows startin!!!! So sorry!!_

_It’s alright!_ He frowns. _Did you call the station this morning?_

_I try not to call people if I can help it lol_ , Søren sends. _So no! Why?_

That’s fair, and he probably should have thought of it. Eduard tells him he’ll explain tomorrow, unsure if he will, then turns on silent mode and enters the studio. The early afternoon duo are still busy bickering while he sets up his things, and he watches them, entertained as ever. Those two are probably the most popular hosts on Radio 8, and the only reason they don’t do the morning show—the most prestigious time slot—is because Nadzeya once claimed she would actually kill Dragos if she had to listen to him before seven o’clock. No one asked again after that.

Now, she just looks at Eduard once before she leaves at the end of their show, narrows her heavily eyeshadowed eyes, and says, “I can’t believe she gave you two cookies.”

“What?” Dragos exclaims out in the hallway, and Eduard laughs as they both speed off. Iryna could probably take over the station, if she wanted.

He eats one cookie before he starts his show.

Still feeling the need to lift his spirits, he throws in more Christmas music than is strictly necessary, or probably advisable if Vinh’s exasperated sighs are anything to go by. While he reads messages, he bops his head along quite merrily.

As the show nears the middle of its second hour, he sees Vinh make a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks at her, and she gestures at her headset, face grim.

Eduard falters slightly in his talk about today’s oddest news stories, but continues while he checks the phone line’s info. She’s answering a call, but why…

The call cuts off as the caller hangs up, and he hears Vinh make a disgruntled noise.

“Uh,” he says, glancing back at her to find her glaring at her computer, “let me know which song you think fits this news for today’s top three. You have until the end of Fortunate Son, and that’s only two minutes, so make it fast!”

Creedence Clearwater Revival starts playing, and Eduard puts his headphones down to walk over to Vinh.

“What was that?”

“Strange call.” She presses her lips together in a thin line and tosses her dark hair over one shoulder. “I took it, and they just said your name and tried to apologize, first thing. As soon as I said anything, they hung up.”

“I…” Eduard takes a step back, swallowing.

“They obviously wanted to speak to you.” She looks at him, her light brown eyes searching. “You’re upset.”

“Someone called the reception as well, earlier today. Did it sound like a man’s voice?”

Vinh doesn’t like to assume who someone is based on their voice, which is fair, but she nods reluctantly.

“Probably. They sounded… Hoarse. Like a smoker, maybe.”

Eduard takes a deep breath. “And it was an anonymous call?”

“Most likely.” She checks. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He shakes his head, good mood all but evaporating again. Since the song is about to end already—CCR is never a good idea when you need to do something behind the scenes, he should have remembered—he has to get back, but he presses his snowflake cookie into Vinh’s hand before he does.

“Are you sure?” she asks, sounding faintly astonished, so at least he’s got a smile in his voice when he announces the hastily-picked first two songs of the top three. Vinh sets about calling back the listener who sent in the suggestion for their third pick, and Eduard stares blankly at his computer.

“Woah, what’s this doom and gloom?” Kveta bursts into the studio, practically flinging her bag to her spot. “Eduard, is that _ABBA_? Why the long face?”

“Eduard has a stalker,” Vinh replies drily, muting her phone call. He winces. “Sorry. This woman doesn’t want to be on-air.”

“Eduard has a what now?” Kveta asks, incredulous. Then, “Tell me later. I’m a woman, I’ll be on-air with you. What are we doing?”

And so, Eduard has a co-host for the last twenty minutes of his show, one who keeps talking to Vinh during songs, but that’s fine. It’s nice, really. It has been quite a while since he did a radio show with someone else.

“Thank you for joining me, Kveta,” he says, on-air, and she makes a sarcastic little joke but is smiling warmly. As the last song starts, she crosses over to him and grasps both of his shoulders, urging him into a little dance. He laughs, moving with her.

“See? Enough doom and gloom,” she says, doing a twirl. “You’re lucky you have me and Vinh around to protect you.”

“I liked having you here, but don’t push it,” he replies. “You know, I think Vinh liked it too.”

“Shut up, Eduard.” Her cheeks color. She looks at Vinh, who is watching them with a little upwards curve at the corner of her lips, and quickly looks back at him, grey eyes wide. “Do you think she did? _Don’t_ answer that. I don’t know why I asked, I’m not twelve.”

“Well, we all do dumb things sometimes.” He clasps her shoulder, fingers curling into her violently orange sweater. He will never understand Kveta’s dress sense, or how she manages to look good regardless of it. “Really, thank you.”

“Of course. I hope you find out who it is, he sounds weird.” She pauses and frowns while the commercial break begins, blasting Christmas jingles into the world. “It’s not your—your cousins’ uncle, is it? The man from yesterday?”

“Søren? No, he has my phone number. We’re going out tomorrow.”

Kveta lights up, and he immediately regrets saying that.

“To the _mall_ , with my _cousins_ ,” he quickly clarifies.

“Still!” Her smile is wide. “Have fun!”

“Of course, Kveta. Are you sure you’re not twelve?”

Today, he doesn’t feel much like staying at the station either, so he tells his team he’s going, waves at the receptionist who replaced Iryna, and takes the bus home.

His phone buzzes again just as he gets off. Holding up a hand at the bus driver in goodbye, he checks the screen, and picks up the call.

“ _Tuomi_ ,” he sighs in relief, fumbling for his house keys one-handed.

“You sound like you expected it to be someone else,” his cousin says, laughing.

“It’s… A long story. _Shit_.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just dropped my keys. Hang on a second.” He manages to open his front door and get inside without more trouble, putting his phone down to take his coat off. “How are you?”

“I’m good! It’s wonderful here. What?” Tuomi pauses, and Eduard can hear his husband’s deep voice rumbling in the background. “Torbjörn’s being finicky about the bed. It’s great. I just wanted to say hi. Everything alright?”

“I’m fine, just…” Eduard hangs his coat on the rack and walks to the fridge, pulling out his spaghetti. “Some weird stuff happened. It’s probably nothing.”

“That doesn’t sound concerning at all.”

He shifts the phone to his other hand so he can put the spaghetti in the microwave.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

Tuomi sighs, but dutifully drops the topic. Eduard will definitely be getting a concerned email from Torbjörn later. The man sometimes seems to forget not everyone is his child, and Tuomi sometimes forgets he and his husband aren’t one person. They’re disgustingly cute, even sixteen years in.

“Has Lars told you about his podcast yet?” Tuomi asks instead. “He was excited to talk about it.”

That makes Eduard laugh.

“Tuomi, the only thing I’ve seen that boy excited about is when I insulted Søren on live radio.”

“That…” He snorts. “Let’s not tell Torbjörn about that, he’s trying so hard to teach him manners.”

“Søren’s trying very hard not to,” Eduard jokes, then feels quite guilty about it immediately. “That’s not true.”

“He’s just being a good uncle, is Søren. Nice guy, isn’t he?”

“M-hm.” He takes his spaghetti out of the microwave. The middle is, unsurprisingly, still cold, but he decides it’ll be fine if he just mixes it all together.

“Single, too.”

“Tuomi, do _not_ try to set me up with your brother-in-law.”

“Torbjörn won’t let me anyway,” he says sadly. “You’ll have to do it yourself.”

“We’re going out tomorrow,” Eduard says while he sits down to eat, balancing a glass of water in one hand.

“Oh! Guess you don’t need my help to begin with!”

“To the mall. How come I didn’t know you knew sign language?”

“That’s not very romantic. And I guess it never came up. What?” A pause. “We’re going to walk the dog now!”

It still amuses Eduard that Tuomi chose to bring his dog and not his sons. He makes a little acquiescing sound.

“Okay, good talking to you, bye! Say hi to Søren from me!”

“Sure. Goodnight, Tuomi.”

“Night, Ed.”

Fondly shaking his head, Eduard puts his phone away and eats his dinner. All in all, it tastes decent enough. Now, if only tomorrow is less strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also featuring:  
> Iryna - Ukraine  
> Nadzeya - Belarus  
> Dragos - Romania
> 
> (I have a full programming for Radio 8, and a few other radio hosts will appear later c: )


	3. III. santa

It’s unreasonably foggy, so much that Eduard’s glasses get covered in tiny drops of water just from walking to his car in the morning, Søren’s scarf draped over his shoulders. He shivers, starting the car so he can turn the heater on. He doesn’t much like driving in weather like this, but then, he doesn’t think anyone really does.

Having left early in case traffic was bad in the mist, he arrives with plenty of time left before he agreed to meet Søren and his cousins. Maybe, Iryna was right, he thinks, but there’s nothing wrong with being a timely person. And now, he can pop into the drugstore while he waits, to buy some razors and shampoo. That’s really all he needs at the mall, and he could have gotten those things at the local shop, but it’ll be nice to spend some time with the boys. And Søren.

He shakes his head, glad Tuomi can’t hear him think that.

“Hey, Uncle Eduard!” Peter waves from the end of the hall, and Eduard waves back, smiling. Lars has forgotten about his insistence on the first-cousin-once-removed address, as Eduard had expected he would. For all that the boy is very smart, he’s still twelve, after all.

“What?” Søren asks, sauntering in behind the boys. “Oh, there you are! Sorry we’re a little late.”

“Peter couldn’t find his shoes,” Lars explains. Peter just shrugs, stuffing his gloves into the pocket of his coat.

“No problem. Good morning.”

Søren grasps his shoulder in greeting, doing a jaunty sort of salute with one hand—or maybe the sign for _hello_ , Eduard realizes. The man lifts up the scarf still around his shoulders and winks.

“You look nice.”

“Very funny.” Eduard takes the scarf off to give it to him.

“I mean, it wasn’t a joke.” He fixes the lapel of Eduard’s woolen coat, and Eduard ducks his head, feeling his face get a little warmer than it should. “Anyway, good to see you. I promised the boys we could go check out the game place. And maybe I’ll finally figure out what I want for Christmas.” He laughs. “My brother-in-law keeps asking about it.”

“Tuomi has some sort of Christmas madness going on.”

“Yeah, and it started in August.”

“Uncle Søren! Come on!” Peter says. He makes a beckoning motion with both hands. Søren, in return, signs something that looks like he’s opening an invisible drawer, and Peter crosses his arms. He kicks the heel of his shoe against the floor, leaving more black marks.

“Also, one of my friends works around here, and I have to go and make fun of his outfit, ‘cause it’s tradition,” Søren continues, leaning forward into Eduard’s space. “And ‘cause I really want to.”

Eduard laughs. “His outfit? What’s he dressed as? Santa?”

“Probably an elf again. I think you’ll like him. He sells musical instruments.” And, “Alright, Pete, now we can go. You know I ain’t—‘kay.”

Because Peter’s shot off like a rocket, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor. He swerves around a plastic Christmas tree in the middle of the aisle and neatly sidesteps a small dog in his way, unbothered.

“Hey! Be careful!” Søren shouts after him, too loudly, but at least there aren’t a lot of people around yet to glare at him. “I regret being the fun uncle, sometimes.”

“You’re our only uncle,” Lars says from where he’s walking carefully on the other side of the hall from them as they follow Peter to the game store. He signs the last two words.

“I guess that’s true.”

Eduard rolls his eyes when Søren glances at him, which makes the man laugh.

They arrive at the game place, where Peter cajoles his brother into playing a demo of something or the other with him, and the store attendant looks mildly less annoyed when she hears Søren tell his nephews that he promises to buy them something as an early Christmas present if they behave.

“I always behave,” Lars says archly. He raises his chin.

“No, you don’t.” Peter punches him in the arm.

“You’re already on thin ice,” Søren tells both of them. He rubs small circles with one hand flat on the other while he does so, which must mean something amusing, because Peter grins and Lars rolls his eyes.

After extracting promises from them to stay close and be nice to people, Søren leads Eduard back out, smiling faintly all the while. It’s endearing, how much he obviously cares about his nephews, beyond just being ‘the fun uncle’. Eduard wonders if Søren wants children of his own. It seems strange to ask something like that out of nowhere, though—strange and also too suggestive—so he goes with the other thing on his mind.

“Søren, what does this mean?” He rubs his hands together horizontally like he did earlier.

“What? Oh!” A sheepish grin. Søren runs a hand over his wild hair, getting the spikes in even more of a disarray. “I was so adamant about not excluding anyone and now I’ve gone and done it myself. That means… Well, in that context it just meant I was joking.”

“Ah! That makes sense. Thank you.”

“Hey, thanks for asking. Like I said, you shouldn’t be left out.” Søren stops walking to turn to him. Other than his red scarf, he’s also wearing red jeans today, with worn knees and the ends tucked into his boots. It’s a look that feels like it shouldn’t work for anyone over 20, except maybe if they’re in a punk band, but Søren manages to pull it off.

“I like learning,” Eduard says, and is unsurprised when Søren grasps his shoulder briefly. He smiles.

“Anyway, my friend works right here.” He gestures behind him, where there is indeed a tiny shop wedged between a chain clothing store and a coffee parlor with several musical instruments on display, and a handwritten note proclaiming that they’re now offering sheet music for a quarter off and Christmas music for half-price. It’s quite dark inside. Or, at least, it seems that way behind the alarming amount of lights in the window, multicolored and flickering in far too many patterns. The lights catch on the edges of Eduard’s glasses, which doesn’t help at all, so he looks back at Søren.

“Is that his doing?” Eduard asks. Tuomi would love this place. Søren grins gleefully.

“If anyone asks, no. He still thinks people believe he’s cool. Off-record? Absolutely.” He tugs Eduard over to the open door, which is equally festooned in lights and a garland complete with fake snow. “He’s trying to distract everyone from his—”

“Søren, stop spreading lies about me,” a smooth voice interrupts, booming through the narrow space through approximately a thousand speakers, and Eduard could swear the lights all flicker at the same time.

Søren yelps, jumping back into Eduard, who has to brace his shoulders to keep him upright. The man’s hair is in his face once again, smelling like hairspray and something metallic that reminds Eduard of Tuomi in a faint and comforting way.

“Sorry, Søren’s friend,” the voice continues.

“ _Einar_!” Søren yells, leaning against Eduard’s hands for a long moment that makes them feel somewhat tingly and warm. He is warm through the leather jacket.

“You come and make fun of me every year.” A shadow moves between a guitar stand and a drum set wedged into a corner. It’s… Jingling.

“It’s _very_ funny.” Søren grins from Eduard to the lanky man who emerges into the light, putting a microphone down as he goes. He is very pale beneath a red and green hat with multiple bells on it, which matches his striped sweater and tight pants. Or maybe leggings. Although his dark eyes look tired, he quirks a wry smile.

“You volunteer to be an elf one time, and they make you be an elf forever,” he grumbles. And, to Eduard, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Hey, I’m Einar.”

“Eduard.” He adjusts his glasses, glancing at Søren. “I think being an elf quite suits you.”

That makes Søren laugh, and Einar look very much like he’s trying not to, because it is just very difficult not to laugh when Søren sounds so delighted. Eduard wasn’t even lying; the man is the kind of handsome that probably should be called beautiful, all elegant lines and sharp angles, so even with the ridiculous outfit, he’s still quite striking. And intimidating, to be honest. Eduard made it a point not to be overwhelmed after meeting Torbjörn, though, aware that it wouldn’t do any good to keep being intimidated by how ridiculously good-looking the man was when he’d be seeing a lot of him. It turned out Torbjörn is the least intimidating person in the world, of course, so that helped.

“Everything suits Einar. It’s a talent.” Tilting his head, Søren turns back to Eduard and regards him appraisingly, so intent that it makes Eduard shift a little. “Then, I think everything’d suit you, too, wouldn’t it?”

“I, hm,” Eduard stutters, looking to Einar for—something. He doesn’t really know what, though. Some explanation as to whether this is typical behavior for Søren, maybe, because he isn’t sure what to think. It’s still pretty easy to be overwhelmed by people thinking _he’s_ handsome. Einar raises a pale eyebrow.

“You’re welcome to try that theory,” he informs them both drily, jingling his hat. “Now, Eduard. Have you just come to laugh at me as well, or are you interested in music, because this one sure as hell isn’t.”

Over Søren’s obviously well-worn protesting that he _is_ , just because he can’t _hear_ most of it doesn’t mean he can’t _appreciate it_ , Eduard tells Einar that he works in radio.

“Actually,” he adds, elbowing Søren, “I used to be in a band.”

_That_ , rather than his elbow, makes Søren shut up. Or, perhaps, it’s the significant-looking eyebrow Einar raises at him, in response to which he grins broadly and jerks his shoulders.

“What did you do, in the band?” he asks Eduard.

“Keys,” he says. “Well, and I did vocals often, but I wasn’t the…”

“The what?”

“The lead… Singer.” He shoves his hands into his pockets to avoid biting his thumbnail like he knows he’s about to. Søren’s dark eyebrows crinkle in concern, and he is already reaching for his shoulder. Einar, behind him, narrows his eyes and takes a step backwards as if meaning to give them space, _in his own shop_.

Eduard takes a deep breath. Catches Søren’s wrist, pulling his arm away gently.

“Either way,” he says, wishing that he knew the sign for _later_ so he could let Søren know he just doesn’t want to talk about it _now_ , “Einar, I’m sorry, but I don’t need any instruments at the moment.”

The look on his face is probably quite fond suddenly when he thinks about his lovely piano, something that he admittedly didn’t need but couldn’t resist buying with one of his first paychecks from Radio 8. It’s probably the most expensively frivolous thing he owns, but he has no regrets. Lars has expressed interest in learning to play, much to Tuomi’s dismay. If it were up to him, his sons would both learn the guitar and carry on in his footsteps of making way too much noise on it. Torbjörn doesn’t play any instruments, as far as Eduard knows, but Tuomi talked him into building a guitar mere months into their relationship, and it was quite good, apparently. Eduard suspects that’s the point at which Tuomi knew he’d found his future husband.

When he focuses again, Einar is sighing and shaking his head, jingling his many bells, Søren is glaring at him, and someone is entering the shop behind them.

Einar nods towards the costumer, and then leans close to Søren. So close that Eduard thinks for a second he’s about to kiss him, and he doesn’t think he’d be surprised but he does think he’d be a little… Disappointed isn’t the word he wants to use, but it seems the most fitting. Einar doesn’t do that, though.

He says, “ _Don’t forget your hat_ ,” and pulls a crumpled Santa hat out of a back pocket, pressing it into Søren’s hand. Without another word, he turns and walks to his customer to help them out.

“Your hat, huh?” Eduard asks, watching Søren shake it out and put it askew on his wild hair. Unsurprisingly, there’s a little bell on this one as well.

“It’s part of the tradition. How do I look?” He spreads his arms. Eduard sweeps his gaze over him—the hat, the leather jacket again, scuffed boots, one of which is laced up further than the other—before meeting his blue eyes and smiling.

“Ridiculous.”

“I compliment you and this is what I get?” He chuckles. “Thanks so much. Wanna go and get the boys? We’ll get something to eat.”

“Sure,” Eduard laughs. He nods his goodbye at Einar, who rolls his eyes ostentatiously in a way that makes Søren laugh again. It’s the kind of exchange you can really only have with someone you’ve known for a long time.

They return to the game store, where Peter and Lars are miraculously in agreement over which game they would like to have, and then herd the boys back out. Heading towards the main plaza, Peter and Lars wandering behind to look at the festive window displays, or maybe to avoid being seen with someone wearing a Santa hat, Søren rocks up next to Eduard.

“So, I don’t mean to be intrusive, y’know, but… What was that just now? Does it have anything to do with whatever happened yesterday?” He walks sideways a few steps before skipping back into a normal walk with a jingle of his hat, flinging his hands out. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, of course.”

“It was… Well…” Eduard pushes his hair away from his forehead. “There were some strange phone calls yesterday. You really startled me when you texted, actually.”

“Oh, sorry, then. Hey, that doesn’t sound good.” This time when Søren touches his shoulder, it’s gentle, and he starts walking quite close, although that is most likely so he can hear Eduard talk. It isn’t busy in the mall, but there’s still a faint echo of conversation all around, and background music even Eduard can hardly hear. The Santa hat matches the scarf, he notes idly. It looks quite festive.

“It was just weird, really. I was trying to forget.”

“Yeah, I understand. I’m no stranger to weird calls, y’know. Or texts, all of that shit. Some of my exes…”

Eduard stops walking; Peter runs into him at full-tilt. They nearly both keel over, but Søren’s still holding his shoulder and tightens his grip to stop the fall. Peter pushes himself up by Eduard’s coat.

“Whoa, Uncle Eduard, you okay?” he asks.

“Huh? Yeah, Peter, I’m…” He catches Søren’s mostly concerned, slightly guilty look, the dark blue eyes searching his face.

“Okay,” Peter says dubiously. Søren sends him and Lars ahead with some quick gestures before looping back to Eduard.

“An ex, huh?” he asks. Eduard swallows, picking at a fingernail nervously.

“It’s… Well, I don’t know for sure, but that talk about the band reminded me of it.”

With a tilt of his head, Søren motions for him to continue.

“We were both in that band. It’s… It’s the best explanation I have right now. I just don’t understand why…”

“Who knows why anyone does anything, huh?”

“It’s been almost _ten_ _years_ , Søren.”

“Hey, let me tell you something,” he says, now grasping both of his shoulders and pulling at him to get him out of the middle of the aisle. They stand in front of a window display of chocolate Santas and reindeer. “Einar didn’t speak to me for almost three years at one point after we broke up, y’know that?”

So they _were_ together at some point, then, Eduard realizes, and he can’t deny that there’s a little excited spark in his chest at knowing for sure that Søren’s into men. It probably also explains, he thinks with amusement, why it wasn’t Einar that Søren chose to introduce to Tuomi, but Torbjörn. Well, that worked out for the better, at least.

“It was mostly my fault. I get that now.” He squeezes his upper arm. “I came ‘round eventually, and we’re better friends now than I think we ever were before the whole thing.”

“We weren’t really… Friends, before.” Friendly, yes, but not _friends._

“Still. I’m just saying, maybe they’re going about it bad, but they might mean well, is all.”

“He,” Eduard clarifies, swallowing heavily when Søren meets his eye. “He was our lead singer. We sort of broke up the whole band.”

“Oh no, that’s fucked. Just think about it like this; maybe he had a moment of weakness, or some shit like that. It’s December, it happens to the best of us.” He huffs a laugh. “Although I don’t think missing someone is a weakness.”

Taking a deep breath, Eduard nods. He doesn’t really think Søren gets the mess that that relationship was in the end, but then, how could he? All the same, he appreciates the effort, and hopes he’s right. It’s not something he thinks about a lot, but when he does, it still upsets him quite a bit.

“And if that’s all not true, and he’s being a creep for no reason—” Søren leans forward, eyes gleaming up at him— “then fuck ‘im.”

Eduard laughs, and keeps grinning while they catch up with his cousins and Peter immediately steals Søren’s hat to try and put it on Lars’s ginger head. Lars swats at him with his sandwich wrapper.

“Really don’t know how Torbjörn does it,” Søren mumbles, putting his forehead in his hand exasperatedly. Eduard touches his arm, once, and the smile he gets in return is enough to brighten his day so much that he doesn’t really think about maybe-his-ex’s phone calls the whole afternoon.

When he arrives at work, Iryna waves at him, but she has no messages, and Eduard thinks, _well_ , maybe Søren was right, maybe his ex had a moment of weakness yesterday, just a moment of thinking about Eduard after nearly a decade. About how terribly badly things ended between them.

It was probably that, and who is he to begrudge anyone that?

He checks Vinh’s screen multiple times during the show, much to her annoyance, but nothing unusual happens.

Alright. A moment of weakness. He can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also featuring:  
> Einar - Norway
> 
> People will still be calling Sea & Lad 'the boys' when they're grown men, and I know this because everyone still calls me and my sister 'the girls' even though we're both adult women at this point, and it's really funny to me. It's probably a universal thing tbh
> 
> We will find out who Est's ex is eventually, and by eventually I mean in the next chapter, because that's really not the mystery here. (It's a character I love so he's not like... A villain or anything. Just an Obstacle!) Also, Liet! Tomorrow!


	4. IV. fireplace

“Why didn’t you tell me, Eduard?”

Eduard looks at the carpet underneath his socked feet, shadows flickering between the soft fabric, and shrugs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound accusing.” From behind his neat desk, Tolys smiles his way. “It’s just—I know how it all ended up, and I’m your friend. I always want to help if I can.”

“I know.” Eduard smiles tiredly back at him. Tolys, his oldest—probably best—friend, is the most helpful person he knows, and that’s exactly why he didn’t particularly want to bother him with his ex’s phone calls. But then he woke up this morning because the host of the early morning show was calling him to tell him there’d been a man on the line for him, and _of course he’s not there anymore, who do you think I am?_

He appreciates that even the colleagues he doesn’t know very well, like David in this case, are looking out for him.

Either way, it was distressing enough that he has ended up interrupting Tolys’s work to come vent about it.

“What if he calls _everyone_?” he asks, wringing his hands.

“I don’t think he’s that stupid,” Tolys says mildly, tapping his fountain pen against his notebook. The silver color of the nib reflects the light of his fireplace, crackling calmly in the early morning darkness that still lingers even as it comes on ten o’clock.

“It _has_ been almost ten years since I’ve spoken to him, I don’t know how bad it is,” Eduard tries to joke, and Tolys shakes his head, running a hand through his long hair. It’s started to shoot through with grey at the temples in a way that makes him look quite distinguished, lately. Eduard, so far, counts himself lucky that his naturally light hair effectively disguises the few grey hairs he’s found.

“It’s not a secret you’re attracted to intelligent people, even if they’re sometimes a little odd.” Tolys sounds joking, but Eduard still grumbles at the assessment.

It’s probably true, he thinks, although it goes for emotional intelligence as well. He thinks about reassuring squeezes of his shoulder and smiles faintly, clasping his hands between his knees.

“ _And_ Stefan was no exception to that rule,” Tolys finishes. “He maybe wasn’t, ah…”

Eduard snorts.

“Well, he was odd, is what I mean, and I don’t think you had much in common besides that band, but he wasn’t dumb. He’ll realize this isn’t going to work soon enough.”

“And then what?”

“Then nothing, if he doesn’t want to end up doing something illegal.” He narrows his eyes. “I feel like I should be charging you.”

Eduard laughs again—Tolys says that every time someone wants his advice, despite not having been a practicing psychologist for years now. He still takes great pride in his work and his research, as well he should. The little corner of the living room dedicated to his study is filled with books and certificates.

“Still, don’t think you can’t tell me things.” Tolys cocks his head gently, leaning back in his chair.

“I know, I know. Thank you.” Eduard starts pushing himself out of his comfortable armchair. “I shouldn’t keep you from your work.”

“Hm.” He’s already looking at his notebook again, and Eduard smiles fondly, deciding to let himself out. Before he goes, he pokes his head back in.

“Hey, Tolys?”

“Yes. Oh, you’re going.”

“I am. Are you and Feliks coming over on Christmas Eve? We could always use some help.”

“Of course!” Tolys smiles. “We’ll be there. We’ve always been, haven’t we?”

It can’t hurt to make sure.

Eduard waves, and goes outside. It’s a nice winter day, the air the sort of crisp that would be perfect if it had snowed, but it hasn’t yet, although it probably won’t be long now. At least that means it’s safe for him to bike the short distance back home, and then again to the supermarket to get groceries. It’s quite busy for a Friday morning, and he gets stuck in the baking products aisle just long enough that he decides he might as well put something together this weekend. If Søren remembers that he promised him dinner, he can at least contribute some dessert.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes with a message the minute he gets home. Eduard checks it while he puts his groceries away.

 _It’s me Søren!!!_ the first message reads, and he snorts, absently holding his fridge open while Søren continues, _I still owe you dinner! Lars suddenly insists he’s vegetarian now so that’s somethin to consider I guess_

Raising his eyebrows, Eduard wonders how long it will last this time. He tries to lean against his fridge while he replies, and practically falls into the vegetable drawer.

“ _Shit_.” He quickly closes the door and puts the rest of his groceries away before he replies, finding that Søren has sent another message in the meantime.

_He says pepperoni isn’t meat now. I think he wants pizza_

_That lasted a very short time_ , Eduard replies. He now pulls the bread he just bought back out of the freezer to make some lunch for himself before he goes to work. He’s been at the station quite infrequently, this week, and he is absolutely going to blame Stefan’s (probably Stefan’s) dumb phone calls for that. Vinh probably won’t be very impressed by that reasoning, but then, when is Vinh ever impressed?

That is doing her a disservice, of course—he has seen her get just as emotional at music as he does sometimes. She’s just hard to read.

 _lol_ , Søren texts. _How do you feel about pizza tho?_

Eduard thinks about pizza dough, and how easy it is to make.

_We could make pizzas, that might be fun_

_Oh!!! Yes that’s awesome!!_ He adds a whole slew of emoticons that makes Eduard laugh out loud.

He eats his sandwich standing at the counter in his light kitchen, winter sunlight illuminating specks of dust in the still air. On the street outside, the local mailman is talking to one of his neighbors and petting her dog while her young children run around pretending to fly airplanes. The man across the street is putting Christmas lights up in his yard, struggling with the cables and yelling back at his wife. A car revs loudly somewhere else, and not for the first time this month, there’s a distant clap of fireworks. Inside, it’s quiet.

 _Bring the boys over here_ , he texts Søren. The kitchen could use some liveliness, he doesn’t add.

Søren agrees to get there in the afternoon, and insists he’ll bring some ingredients himself. Eduard is curious as to whether there will be pepperoni. Tuomi and Torbjörn always support Lars’s attempts to become vegetarian, even when they last a day. Maybe, it’ll stick at some point.

_I have to go to work now, Søren_

_Ok no problem! See you tmrw!!_ _😉_

For a minute, Eduard stares at the emoji. _Emotional intelligence_ , he thinks, and smiles. Emotional enthusiasm, more like. He brushes his teeth and gets on the bus to the radio station, where he walks slowly to the entrance, basking in the sunlight before he has to spend the afternoon inside.

“Hey, Eduard,” Iryna says, smiling warmly at him when she spots him.

“Good afternoon. No messages for me?”

She shakes her head, then rests her chin in her hand.

“But?” he prompts.

“I have an idea.”

“Alright?”

She beckons him closer, so he leans forward over the reception desk, resting on his forearms.

“I was thinking about how we aren’t doing a charity drive this year, you know? And I thought we should do something, ourselves. It can’t be anything as big as usual, of course…”

“Oh!” He drums his fingers on the back of the reception desk. “Yes, that sounds like a great idea, actually. Have you told anyone else?”

Her light eyes shine happily, but she shakes her head.

“I wanted to ask if you have any ideas.”

Thinking, he adjusts his glasses. Usually, Radio 8 has a fundraiser during December, where the station raises money for a good cause in the week or two before Christmas, but for some reason that honestly isn’t entirely clear to Eduard, station management has decided to scrap it this year. It would be difficult to organize something as involved as the other years with just the other hosts and the rest of the employees who want to help, certainly on such short notice, but Eduard has no doubt they could pull _something_ off. Everyone was disappointed when it became clear it wasn’t happening, even the listeners. The fundraiser is a tradition for many of them.

“Maybe…” He starts slowly. “I’m not sure yet, but maybe we can motivate the listeners to do some volunteering, or something like that.”

“The hosts could help out somewhere. That would be nice.” Iryna smiles again. “I’ll look into that, and I’ll send an email out later to see if anyone else has ideas.”

“Great plan.” He pushes himself back up. “I’ll look forward to it, I’ve got no doubt you can think of something great.”

“You flatter me, Eduard. Go get to work.”

He does. Vinh, when he brings up Iryna’s idea during their meeting, is quite enthusiastic about it.

“It would be nice to do something,” she says. “And we could do some interesting reports if we go to volunteer somewhere.”

“Good to have you on board.”

A corner of her mouth ticks up, and there’s an amused glint behind her light brown eyes.

“Also,” Eduard adds, “we could probably work together with someone else’s team, maybe Kveta’s. It’ll be more interesting to listen to that way.”

She glares at him, and he laughs. It’s a wonder how two of the most confident women he knows turn into such shy people around each other. But then, he’s probably not the right person to judge, there.

He also definitely knows better than to comment directly on it. They’ll figure it out someday.

Later, on the bus home, he receives another text from Søren.

_Lars says tomatoes are meat now. Maybe he doesn’t want pizza anymore_

_He’s never liked tomatoes, I think_ , Eduard replies.

_Oh!! Right I knew that! But pizza. Guess we can do other sauces_

_I’m sure it’ll be fine_

Eduard greets the bus driver, and walks home.

It has gotten dark, and his house is still silent, still unlit. It never seems too large, or too empty, until December, when he’s reminded of Tuomi’s endless enthusiasm for the holidays, how he always has his home decorated in early November at the latest and has gathered this lovely family around himself years ago. Eduard isn’t a jealous person, and it isn’t _jealousy_ , per definition. It’s more of a… Longing, not for what his cousin has, but for something of his own. He’s 40 now—almost 41—and it’s become more pronounced every year, that feeling.

He eats some quickly fried rice for dinner, and sits down at his piano. He finds that, as every year, he remembers every Christmas song perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also featuring (well, mentioned):  
> David - Australia  
> Stefan - Bulgaria  
> Feliks - Poland
> 
> Uhh so... Is Est/Bul a thing? Doesn't really matter, I guess! It's just Bul is one of my favorite characters and he fits the role of Weird Ex pretty well, _and_ I tend to make him musically inclined so it made sense in my head for him to have been in that band with Est :>
> 
> Shoutout to that one vegetarian woman who ordered a pepperoni pizza, back when I was a pizza delivery person, and insisted that we did it wrong because 'pepperoni isn't meat', and I had to bike all the way back to the pizzeria to get her a new pizza! (But at least we got to eat the pepperoni pizza)


	5. V. baking

“You weren’t lying about the band, huh?”

Eduard laughs, turning to Søren before he replies to be sure the man can understand him when he speaks.

“It was a long time ago.” He looks up at the picture Søren is studying, one of the very few he has up in his house, in the hallway. Much as he likes to think what happened with Stefan back then hasn’t influenced his thoughts on the band as a whole, he has to admit that it really did, and most pictures weren’t good memories. They’ve never been up since he moved here, stuck in one of those many boxes in his attic.

It would probably be fine now, he thinks, to look at them. Or, well, it would have been, a week ago.

“You’ve hardly changed, though.” Søren grins at him, crow’s feet deepening around his eyes. “How old are you in this one?”

“About… Twenty-seven, maybe? You had met me when I was that age.”

“I guess that’s true. Can’t say I remember, honestly. What kinda music did you guys do?”

“Rock.”

“Yeah? So like Tuomi?”

“Less Tuomi, more…”

“Eduard,” he finishes for him.

In the other room, Lars is playing the piano quite admirably. The boy really reminds Eduard of himself sometimes—vegetarian whims and all.

“More Eduard,” Søren repeats. “Y’know, I like that.”

He looks at the picture again, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips as if in thought. Eduard releases a heavy breath through his nose, biting his thumbnail before he can stop himself.

“My ex is the one on the right,” he says. “The guy with the dark hair.”

Søren nods, looking away from Stefan’s crooked grin and green eyes and turning fully back to Eduard, the space between them small enough that their elbows touch on the turn.

“Have you heard anything else from ‘im?”

Eduard hunches his shoulders, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Apparently, he called David on the early morning show yesterday, but I think he might have stopped now.”

“I hope so, man. Moment of weakness, like I said.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again.

“Hey, sorry for reminding you of it. I promised you dinner, not a damn therapy session.” Søren’s fingers are warm on his neck for just a second when he touches his shoulder in that familiar gesture.

“It’s okay.”

“Alright. Let’s make some pizza, then!”

They join Peter and Lars in the kitchen. Lars has divided the lump of dough Eduard has prepared into four pieces, and Peter is attempting to toss his in the air.

“If you drop that, I’m not sharing mine,” Lars says, glaring at his brother. Peter sticks his tongue out. He is being careful, to his credit, making sure to keep the dough over the kitchen counter and using both hands, so Eduard just nods encouragingly at him, which gets him an absent smile.

“What’ll you have?” he asks Lars, curiously. The boy scrunches up his nose in a way that reminds Eduard very much of Tuomi.

“Cheese, I think. Maybe spinach.” His eyes widen. “Pete, do you remember when we made that quiche?”

Peter mumbles something distractedly, still much more interested in his dough. He hadn’t liked the quiche that much, as Eduard recalls it, at least not as much as Lars had. It’d been a nice little project on a Saturday afternoon that they shared with Torbjörn on a day when Tuomi was working late.

“We could do that again sometime,” he tells Lars, who nods. When Eduard catches Søren’s eye, he finds a fond look twinkling at him. It inevitably makes him smile.

Like Søren, Eduard cares a lot about Tuomi and Torbjörn’s sons, and he has for the past twelve years. He’s never particularly wanted children of his own, and feels like he’s too old by now anyway—knowing full well that isn’t true—but he likes being an uncle for Lars and Peter.

Unbidden, he wonders if Erzsébet ever ended up having children, and if she has, whether he’ll ever get the chance to meet them, let alone be their uncle too. It’s been years since he and Tuomi last heard from their elder cousin. Despite their best efforts.

“Alright,” Søren is saying, “how do we go ‘bout this, huh?”

“It’s pizza, there’s no rules,” Peter replies, quite sagely. He puts his somehow nearly perfectly round dough down. “Uncle Eduard, do you have any apples?”

“See, you say that, and then I feel like there should be rules,” Søren says, but he passes the apple to Peter when Eduard hands it to him.

“It’s like apple pie,” Peter explains, opening all of Eduard’s drawers to find a knife. Lars is pulling such an exaggerated disgusted expression that Eduard has to hide behind a cupboard for a moment to avoid being seen laughing at him.

“Wait, I get it!” Søren exclaims. “It’s like dinner and dessert in one!”

“Exactly!” Peter high-fives him.

Lars just stares at them, then exchanges an exasperated look with Eduard. Instead of lecturing anyone on the difference between pizza dough and pastry dough, Eduard decides to let it be. The explanation would likely fall on deaf ears anyway. Quite literally, in Søren’s case. He wonders if he ever conveniently didn’t hear chores being assigned as a child. That’s what Eduard would have done, and he wasn’t really one to shirk his chore duties to begin with. His father was always adamant about helping out.

“Cinnamon!” Søren says.

Sure, cinnamon. At least it’s seasonally appropriate.

Eduard assists Lars with putting cheese and spinach and some pieces of bell pepper on his pizza, which he’s formed into a square so he can easily divide it into equal parts. He’s using white sauce as a base. Søren, for his part, decides to follow Peter’s example and dedicates a small corner of his lumpy pizza to apple slices and cinnamon.

“What, it’s not like it’s gonna taste _bad_ ,” he defends this decision, even though some apple slices overlap his tomato sauce. Eduard shakes his head and hands him some sugar.

With some shuffling, they manage to fit everything into the oven, and Eduard sweeps the kitchen island clean while Søren follows the boys back to the living room to listen to Lars’s piano playing. When Eduard gets there as well, he finds the man standing with his arms crossed, staring through the bay window into the dark backyard. From here, on the slope of a small hill, the only thing visible beyond the yard is a smattering of houses lit up among the fields that line the city, and the forest in the distance. Sadly, Eduard has no talent for tending to a garden, so most of it is grass, but after a lecture from one of his coworkers, he planted some flowers that bees are supposed to like.

Søren spots Eduard in the reflection and nods at him, eyes crinkling.

Lars is playing a pretty good rendition of _Silent Night_. When Eduard mentions this to Søren, coming to stand next to him, he nods, but he also frowns and takes a small step closer to him.

“It’s pretty loud as well,” he explains. “At least compared to you.”

The only time Eduard talks anything near loudly is when he’s presenting the radio show, so that checks out. He makes a mental note to try to be a bit more enunciated when speaking to Søren.

“What kind of music do you enjoy?” he asks, curious.

“Oh! Well, I like drums, they’re very obvious, so things with a good beat are nice.” He gestures at the piano. “Just as long as there’s not too many things overlapping, y’know?”

“Hm-m.”

“Although I do like progressive rock, but mostly just the dumb keyboard solos.” And, when Eduard blinks indignantly, “They’re dumb! I like ‘em but they’re ridiculous. I ain’t insulting keyboards!”

“You better not be.”

Søren bumps his shoulder into Eduard’s upper arm, huffing a laugh. Eduard shakes his head.

“Is it your fault that Lars made me play a six-minute Asia song, then?”

“Ha! You can blame my brother for that one.”

Of course.

Eduard’s phone beeps. Time to check how the pizzas are doing. Søren, who seems confused when he suddenly leaves until he shows him the screen of his phone, trails after him to the kitchen, and the boys wander in as well.

“It smells like apple pie in here,” Lars says, glaring at his brother.

It is definitely an odd combination of smells, but it’s not bad altogether, and the pizzas look done, so Eduard pulls the baking tray out of the oven. Søren pushes his nephews out of the way so he can swivel around and put the pizzas down on the kitchen island.

“Alright,” he says. “Lars, can you get some plates?”

Lars can, and Eduard doles out everyone’s pizzas. Peter gloats at his brother about his pizza fitting on his plate because it’s round, but Lars just huffs, clearly still unimpressed by the dessert slice.

“Well, I’m sure Uncle Eduard thinks it’s smart, don’t you?” Peter asks. Eduard looks from him, to Søren, who holds his hands out innocently, and decides he’ll need to be on Lars’s side this time.

“I think squares are very handy, actually.”

Søren bites his lip to stop himself from laughing, his eyes scrunching up into little half-moons.

“ _I_ think,” he says, taking a very deep breath when his lip wobbles with mirth, “round pizzas are the only real pizzas. There’s a reason—” He signs something that involves sketching a circle with one hand over the other that Eduard assumes means _pizza_.

“See!” Peter says, before marching back to the living room with his pizza, Lars immediately following and probably preparing many very logical arguments about shapes.

“What have we _done_?” Eduard asks, and this time, Søren does laugh, gripping his shoulder—almost his neck—and shaking him a little. He almost seems to be leaning on Eduard, overcome with mirth. It’s not _that_ funny, is it? Eduard presses his lips together but can’t suppress an answering giggle.

“Can we _please_ not tell my brother we’ve become his sons’ seconds-in-command?” Søren hiccups. Eduard’s giggle turns into a snort that makes Søren look up at him, blue eyes bright and amused, and Eduard wants to touch him back in some way, in the same easy manner he touches people, but he isn’t good at that. No one in his family is.

So he settles for smiling and nodding, and maybe a small shiver when Søren’s warm, restless fingers touch the side of his neck for a moment. In the warm light of the kitchen, his hair appears nearly as ginger as Lars’s, copper threaded through with gold. The space seems easily filled just by him, in the sort of way Eduard wishes his house could be more often. Maybe even his life.

And perhaps, it’s that patented December sentimentality, the same sentimentality that maybe made Stefan think about him after all these years, but he regrets not really taking the time to get to know this man who is practically his brother-in-law before now. Well, there’s still time. Tuomi and Torbjörn will be back Monday.

“We should go check that they haven’t broken down your house,” Søren is saying.

“Yes, that seems… Prudent.”

Søren opens his mouth, but closes it again without saying anything, and just shakes his head fondly.

They take their pizzas to the dining table, where they find Lars and Peter, surprisingly, with their heads bent together and whispering conspiratorially. Eduard exchanges a look with Søren.

“What’s up?” Søren asks, loudly. Lars glares at him.

“We noticed,” Peter starts, “that you don’t have a Christmas tree yet!”

Eduard shakes his head, pulling a chair out and starting to cut his pizza into squares. He’s saving the bit with the mushrooms for last.

“Well, you should get one!” He glances at his brother, who nods and raises his hands from his pizza as if he’s about to sign something, before looking at Søren and continuing to eat. “We could help. If dad’s taught us anything, it’s Christmas decorations.”

Yeah, Eduard will bet.

“And Uncle Søren can help too, of course,” Peter continues. “He knows everything about…”

“Electricity,” Lars finishes.

“You ain’t wrong,” Søren says around a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. “That’s part of my job. Eduard, did you say you made this dough?”

“Yes, I—”

“It’s good!” Swallowing, he grins. Out of the corner of his eye, Eduard catches the flash of Lars’s hands, but Søren doesn’t appear to have noticed. Well, whatever ulterior motive they have—getting out of doing homework for a while, he imagines—it does sound nice to spend another day with his cousins before handing them back to their fathers.

“I’d have to find all my decorations,” he tells Peter and Lars. “They’re all in the attic. So’s the tree, I think.”

“You need a real tree,” Peter says sagely. Lars nods. Søren nods, too.

“I haven’t had a real tree in years.”

“All the more reason!” Søren exclaims. “We should go get you one. I know a good place, actually. If I had more room at my place, I’d have gotten one myself.”

Well, Eduard can see he isn’t going to win this. Is this how Torbjörn feels when Tuomi and the boys gang up on him?

“Alright. But eat your pizza.”

Søren and Peter agree that they’re geniuses for inventing the dessert slice. Eduard is almost jealous.

 _Almost_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also featuring (as in mentioned, and I did mention her in the first chapter as well and everyone Knows but for the sake of being complete):  
> Erzsébet - Hungary


	6. VI. christmas tree

“What are you _wearing_?” Soren exclaims.

Eduard looks down at his coat, back up at him, and shrugs.

“Warm clothes?” His breath clouds in front of his face. He looks longingly up at Søren’s apartment, where the string of lights glitters around the window. The sky is clouded overhead, heavy in a way that suggests it may snow soon. Not too soon, hopefully.

“They’re very… Neat, is all,” Søren says appraisingly. “I mean, you look great, but I don’t know if it’s smart.”

He taps his fingers against his jaw, thinking. He himself is wearing what appears to be a work outfit—his sturdy jacket has the name of his company embroidered on it—and the same heavy boots as before. Eduard pushes the pointed nose of his shoe against the ground of the parking lot.

“I’ll lend you a coat. Don’t want this nice one to get dirty. Wait here a minute.” He starts walking to the entrance of the building, but pauses and turns. “Actually, come on up with me. Probably more efficient that way.”

“It’s fine—”

“Come!” He signs something at Peter, who is trying to get a neighborhood cat to come over to him, and Lars, who is sitting sideways in the backseat of his car, looking at his phone, and then he gestures for Eduard to follow him.

Eduard does, still confused about the situation. They’re just going to get a tree. Sure, he might get some pine needles on his coat, but that’s nothing to worry about, right?

“Come on in,” Søren says, once they’ve reached his apartment and he’s opening the door to his bedroom.

“I…”

“Don’t be shy. I ain’t asking you to get in the bed, Eduard.” He leans against the doorpost for a moment and gives him a wink, although his expression is searching. Without saying anything, he turns to walk over to the open wardrobe. Eduard tries not to look around the room, but he does anyway, of course, because he’s only a man and being in someone else’s bedroom is still as strangely intimate as when he was in his twenties.

That isn’t true for _everyone’s_ bedroom, of course. It is for Søren’s.

It’s neat in here as well, the double bed made in Christmas red lit by rays of sunlight filtering through a window that is open slightly. Even still, the smell of hairspray faintly lingers in the room.

“I knew I had another one!” Søren says triumphantly. He turns back to Eduard and holds a coat out to him that seems identical to the one he’s wearing. “I know you’re taller than me, but it’s not like you’re—” he gestures—“broader, y’know? You’re skinny as hell.”

Well, that’s true, and Eduard has long since accepted it. It’s his father’s genes, according to Tuomi. He takes his own coat off, swapping it with Søren’s.

It fits, although it’s a little short in the arms, but he’s used to that. With a satisfied little grin, Søren slings Eduard’s coat over his arm.

“We’ve got an opening, y’know. You’d fit right in at the company.”

“I’m good where I am, I think,” Eduard laughs. “And I don’t think I’m strong enough.”

“It’s not all heavy lifting.” Søren flicks something off his shoulder. “Tuomi’s got most of that covered anyway, but I’m sure you could do some of the cables. Security, maybe. But you’re right, you’re good where you are. Let’s go!”

Growing up, Tuomi always wanted to be in a band, or at least become a guitarist and tour the world. He was always a great musician—it runs in the family—but it didn’t prove easy for him to find work that paid enough, which was how he eventually ended up joining the little event management firm Søren had, at that point, just started, and how he met Torbjörn. Eduard is still amazed by how fast his rebellious little cousin settled down once he found some structure in his life.

Now, of course, Tuomi gives guitar lessons as a side project, and he sometimes helps out in music studios, so it probably worked out better than he would have thought when he was 24 and applying for a job lugging boxes around for festivals he’d once dreamed of playing himself.

Eduard, by contrast, had quite an unexpected wild time in his twenties, what with the band and the terrible relationship.

“Where exactly are we going?” he asks Søren, in the car.

“Yeah, Uncle Søren, where _are_ we going?” Lars echoes, but Søren doesn’t hear him. The boy’s mood doesn’t seem to be great today.

Søren flashes a grin at Eduard. “We’re gonna get you a Christmas tree!”

Alright.

They leave the city and drive into the hilly forest that stretches inland. Eduard asks Søren if it’s okay to turn on the radio, and when the man nods, he tunes into Radio 8 so he can listen to Ajuma’s show. She mentions that they’re attempting to continue the fundraiser this year, and that the listeners should send her suggestions as to where the hosts could lend a hand.

Iryna only sent her email yesterday evening, but then, Ajuma is a very efficient woman and will topple the station management one day.

Finally, as Ajuma’s show nears its end at two in the afternoon, Søren pulls into a bumpy side road in the forest, and Eduard realizes what he got himself into when he spots a modest, homemade sign advertising Christmas trees you can get from the forest yourself. There is a beautifully hand-painted pine tree on it, but Eduard mostly feels a sense of impending doom. Much as he loves the outdoors, he very much does not have a green thumb.

Søren winks at him when he stops the car, before immediately jumping out and starting to wave his arms wildly at a man who emerges from a small cabin hidden between the trees.

Turning in the passenger seat, Eduard addresses his cousins.

“Have you been here before?”

“Sure,” Peter says. “Dad comes here too, now that Uncle Søren told him about it.”

Lars grumbles.

“It’ll be fun, trust me,” Peter adds, grinning at Eduard. He’s got little red and green elastics on his braces, he notices. Tuomi is _indoctrinating_ those kids.

“Alright.” Eduard takes a breath and opens his door. The ground is mulchy under his feet. He understands Søren’s boots now.

The man Søren’s talking to now looks to be about their age, maybe a little older, his hair is just as wild as Søren’s, and he’s taller than Eduard, even in a slouch. He’s signing at Søren, but turns to Eduard and says, “Hello. Got talked into something by Søren?”

“Well…” Eduard says. Peter, who’s just reaching them, laughs. The tall man nods, seemingly amused.

“He’s good at that. I’m Maarten, welcome to the forest.” Over his shoulder and raising his voice, he adds, “ _Which is not mine to run!_ ”

Eduard blinks when he looks back at him with piercing green eyes.

“I’m… Eduard.”

Maarten nods. Looks over his shoulder again. He signs something at Søren that makes Peter giggle and Søren rapidly reply, flushing.

“You don’t have to yell at me,” someone else says, and they all jump, except for Maarten, who turns to the younger man who seems to have appeared next to him out of nowhere.

“I hardly did,” he says. The man smiles, tucking wayward blond curls underneath a purple beanie.

“Hello,” he says to Eduard, Søren and Peter, voice soft. “As you might guess, it’s _my_ job to run this place, at least in December. Søren, right?”

“Come again?” Søren says when he realizes the man’s talking to him. He gestures at his ear.

“Sorry. You’re Søren, right?” he repeats, a little louder although he’s clearly not used to it. Maarten touches his flannel-clad upper arm.

“Yeah, still am!” Søren grins reassuringly. “And this is my nephew, Peter—Pete, where’s Lars?”

“Sulking.”

“Okay, sure. And this is Eduard, his cousin, here to get a tree.”

Maarten raises his eyebrows. There’s a scar on his forehead that cuts through the right one at its highest point, and a smudge of what seems like paint just underneath the other one.

“ _No_ relation to me.” Søren glares at him. “Asshole. Eduard, Maarten’s an old friend of mine, and this is his husband, Matthew.”

Eduard would not be surprised if it turned out that Maarten is Søren’s ex as well, and wonders how many more intimidatingly handsome men—people?—he’ll be introduced to over December. Well… He’d have to find an excuse to spend time with Søren first, for that to happen. Maybe Tuomi would appreciate some more time alone with Torbjörn.

“Well, let’s get you a tree,” Matthew says. “Follow me, please.”

Eduard and Peter do, and Lars comes hurrying after them, while Søren exchanges a few more words with Maarten.

“Have you met Søren before?” Eduard asks, and Matthew nods.

“I don’t know him well, though. All I know is that he was very gracious when Maarten basically left him for me, so, well.” He shrugs, while he rolls down the sleeves of his plaid shirt. “I’ve got a high opinion of him, for what that’s worth. Here we are. You haven’t done this before, have you?”

Eduard helplessly gestures at himself, a little overwhelmed by the information he just received in that soft voice. Matthew laughs gently, pushing his round-framed glasses up.

“Right, then.” He waits for a moment when Søren joins them. “What we have here is a small pine farm, just to have some extra income in winter, eh? So you’ll go out into the marked patch over here and pick a tree. I can get it for you, or you can grab some supplies and have a go at it yourself.”

He gestures behind him at a shadowy copse of pine trees, some no taller than Peter and some stretching to at least three meters.

“So… Saw it?” Eduard asks.

“No!” He seems horrified. “You dig up the roots. If you’re lucky, you can plant it in your yard and let it grow further after Christmas. Some people even bring their trees back here.”

Søren thumps Eduard’s back. “So, what d’you say? Let’s get you a tree.”

“Yes, of course.” Eduard turns to his cousins. “Can you two find one that’ll look nice in my house?”

“I _guess_ ,” Lars says. Peter is already sprinting away and disappears between the trees.

“Søren, you know how it works, don’t you?” Matthew asks.

“Sure! I helped out that time, remember? No, hold on, you wouldn’t, you were sick that time.” He waves his hands around and starts walking towards a little tool shed on the edge of the patch of trees.

“What do I owe you?” Eduard asks Matthew, who smiles gently and generally exudes such calm that Eduard decides to hand him some more money than he asks for. The man tells him he’ll be around if they need help and wanders off in another direction, putting his hands in his jeans pockets.

Lars comes trudging back, announcing that he and Peter have found a good tree.

When Eduard follows him between the trees, Søren catches up with them and rests one hand in the middle of Eduard’s back for a moment, pressing reassuringly between his shoulder blades. He’s carrying a large bucket with some holes in the bottom and a pair of shovels in it, in the other hand.

The tree Peter is standing next to, doing a triumphant pose at, is a little taller than Eduard, about two meters and a bit, with bluish needles packed densely together. He thinks it will look quite nice underneath his high ceiling, probably better than the fake one he’s been using for the past six years since he moved into that house. It smells fresh around here.

“What d’you think, huh?” Søren asks.

“It’s beautiful.” Eduard walks around the tree. “Good choice, boys.”

“Right?” Peter says.

“Let’s get it out!” Søren hands Eduard one of the shovels. “Pete, can you be ready with the container?”

He holds his hand up in an okay sign.

“Alright, great. Eduard, just get on the other side and dig straight down, just about…” He puts his own shovel on the ground next to the tree trunk and grins at him. “It’s an instinctive sorta thing, but like I said, I helped out one time so I got pretty good at it.”

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna count to three,” Søren announces when Eduard has found the right place. “Ready? One, two, three!”

Eduard puts the heel of his shoe on the shovel and pushes down into the cold ground as far as he can. Søren kicks his shovel with his boot, pulls it out and digs again at a right angle with seeming ease, and then again on the other side. He puts his shovel back into his first digging place. Eduard, for his part, doesn’t entirely want to ruin his nice shoes and tries leaning his entire weight on the shovel instead, but like Søren said earlier, he is pretty skinny, and it doesn’t work very well. His strength is more in endurance.

“Need a hand?” Søren says, and Eduard shrugs, laughing sheepishly. He tries to step aside, but Søren just presses his gloved hands down next to Eduard’s, standing close beside him.

“Alright, push,” he says. Eduard blinks. Breathes out. His breath clouds, drifting in front of Søren’s freckled, flushed face.

He pushes down, and they get the shovel into the earth.

“Nice! Now we need to get it out and into the bucket. Lars, ready to steady it?”

He holds his hands out, but he isn’t wearing gloves. Eduard frowns, takes his own gloves off, and hands them over. Lars opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, just nods and puts them on.

With Søren holding the trunk, Eduard levering the shovel, Peter angling the bucket and Lars steadying the tree, they get it safely into the container. Peter shovels some more loose earth on it.

“Good job, team,” Søren jokes, brushing pine needles from Peter’s hair. Peter swats some from Søren’s shoulders in turn. “Let’s get it back to the car.”

Lars continues to keep the tree steady while Eduard and Søren carry it back out to Søren’s car, the plastic bucket cutting off the circulation in Eduard’s cold hand. When they get there, Matthew shows back up to help them put a net over the tree to keep it safe and put it in the trunk, where Søren has put some tarp down.

“Thanks, Matthew!” Søren shakes the man’s hand. “Tell Maarten he still owes me money.”

“He’s been denying it for years now. I don’t imagine it will do much good.”

“I know.” Søren grins and thumps his arm. “It’s tradition. See you ‘round!”

Matthew raises his eyebrows at Eduard as Søren gets into the car, and Eduard can only shrug.

“Thank you,” he says as well, holding his hand out. Matthew shakes it, his fingers somehow warm despite his lack of gloves.

“I’ve got some instructions and information about care for you.” He presses a flyer into his hands. “Come back anytime. Well, during December, I mean. Or when Maarten’s doing an exhibition.”

Eduard might. He gets into the passenger seat.

They get back to his house in the late afternoon and haul the tree inside, trailing earth all through the hall and into the living room. The tree is maneuvered into position by the bay window, Eduard carefully following the instructions about the best way to cover the tree roots.

“Lights!” Peter says, already unraveling some with Lars’s help.

“Alright, you do that,” Eduard decides. “I’ll see where I put the tinsel.”

“Having an attic must be nice.” Søren surveys the boxes of Christmas decorations scattered across the room, smiling crookedly at Eduard over his shoulder.

“It’s a curse and a blessing,” Eduard says. “I have… Too many things.”

“But just enough decorations, I bet.”

“Only if you asked Tuomi.”

They find Santa hats—without bells—and several old homemade ornaments that shed gold-painted macaroni before they get to the tinsel. Unsurprisingly, Søren pulls it out of the box and immediately drapes it around his shoulders, striking an extravagant pose. Eduard applauds, and Peter laughs from near the tree. The lights are coming along quite nicely.

Tinsel descends around Eduard’s shoulders.

“Oh!”

“Now we match,” Søren says, taking a step back to survey Eduard’s glittering scarf. “Yep, suits you too.”

Eduard ducks his head, and Søren laughs kindly, flicking the tinsel.

The tree turns out messier than if Eduard had done it himself, but it’s charming in its own way that makes the living room feel much more alive, with its clumped ornaments and crooked tinsel. Peter and Lars have a rock-paper-scissors tournament to see who gets to put the tree topper on, that Lars wins. Eduard is about to get a chair for him to stand on when Søren just grabs his waist and hoists him up easily.

Lars yelps and glares down at his uncle, but places the topper carefully, with an air of ceremony about him.

“I’m _too old_ to be picked up,” he tells Søren once he’s back down, arms crossed.

“’S long as I can pick you up, you’ll have to deal with it, Lars,” Søren says with a grin. “And I’m pretty strong, y’know.”

With a huff, Lars turns away.

“Anyway,” Søren continues, to Eduard, “it won’t be long until he’s taller than me at the rate it’s going, and I’ll probably have to stop at that point.”

“You can still try. Are you staying for dinner?”

“Again? I don’t wanna impose.”

Eduard shrugs. “There’s enough pasta in this house to feed the entire radio station, and also Tuomi. If anything, you’d be doing me a favor.”

“Well, y’know, in that case…” He signs—he signs, “Of course,” like he showed Eduard, and grins when he sees the recognition in his eyes. “Guess you do like learning.”

“Can you tell me something else?”

“Is it ‘Christmas tree’?” Søren’s eyes crinkle up in amusement when he nods. “Pretty simple, you just…”

With his index fingers, he sketches the triangle shape of a pine tree in front of himself, quickly moving his hands to indicate the branches.

“And the best part of that one is: it means Christmas as well,” he explains.

“Isn’t that confusing?”

“Not with context, y’know, the same way words that sound the same aren’t confusing most of the time. You can do pretty good puns with similar signs, though!” He rocks back on the heels of his boots. Looks down at his boots. “I think we need to do some cleaning up in here.”

Eduard’s living room does look quite like an elf exploded in there after it dragged in a forest’s worth of mud.

“ _Probably_ ,” Eduard concedes. And, because he thinks of something, “Do you mind me asking about signs?”

Søren’s grin turns soft in that peculiar way, and he shakes his head.

“Not if you don’t do it all the time. And if you really wanna learn sign language, I ain’t your man. I’m a horrible teacher.” He grasps his shoulder. “But some curiosity? That’s great.”

“Alright.” Eduard touches his elbow briefly, smiling. Søren lets go of him and turns.

“Boys!” he shouts, winking at Eduard. “Get yourselves some brooms or something, or I’m telling your parents about the goat incident last year!”

Peter sticks his tongue out and Lars glares, but they scurry to Eduard’s kitchen to grab his broom anyway.

“I’ll tell you someday, if you swear to keep it secret,” Søren promises him. “I’ll go give them a hand.”

Later, after they clean the room and eat some of the penne from the pantry, and Søren has clasped both of Eduard’s shoulders and told him he’d see him again soon before he left with his nephews, after all that, Eduard looks at his Christmas tree and inhales the scent of fresh pine in the house. It’s nice. It’s much better than before.

Then, he looks past the Christmas tree out into his backyard and finds that it has started to snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also featuring/mentioned:  
> Ajuma - Kenya  
> Maarten - Netherlands  
> Matthew - Canada
> 
> I don't write enough NedCan and it makes me sad because I love them,, In high school I once did a presentation about the history between Canada and the Netherlands, and now I realize that was probably ten years ago and am feeling Old :') On that note: is it okay to freak out a bit when you find out two of your high school classmates have bought a house together that is _on your mail route_ so now you have to see them every day? Asking for a friend :V
> 
> I've got a pine tree in the backyard that we put there like twenty years ago after it was our Christmas tree. It's as tall as the house now!


	7. VII. travelling

Snow crunches underfoot when Eduard walks down his garden path, but the sidewalk has already turned sludgy with the many feet trudging across it over the morning. At least the wintery sunlight doesn’t reflect so harshly off it.

The bus driver is wearing sunglasses. Eduard regrettably hasn’t got any, because he always forgets he needs them when he gets new glasses and so only owns sunglasses that are several years old and not the right strength anymore. He just shields his eyes with his hand instead.

“Wipe your feet!” Iryna shouts at him when he enters the radio station.

He gestures expansively at his shoes, which he’s already wiped clean. He has dug up boots for the occasion.

“Good,” she says, smiling at him when he walks over to the reception desk. “The weather’s beautiful today.”

“It is. How’s the fundraiser coming along?”

“Good, good! We received a lot of suggestions from listeners over the weekend, I’m working on sorting them out now. I’m feeling good about it! And Ajuma is lending a big hand.”

“I’m not surprised.” Eduard pushes his glasses down because they have started to fog up. Iryna turns blurry around the edges. “Can I do anything?”

“Just keep talking about it on the show!”

“I can definitely do that. Have a good day, Iryna!”

“You too.”

He has a meeting with his team and one of the managers, who is actually enthusiastic about their fundraiser plan and says he’ll help wherever he can. The rest of their December agenda is pretty much the same as usual, including the end-of-year Song of the Year election, after Christmas. Eduard can’t say he cares much about lists like that. They all seem very arbitrary, and Tuomi always complains at him that there’s never any metal songs in the list, which is true but annoying. There’s never really any alternative music in it.

He checks his watch when he goes to get a late lunch. Tuomi and Torbjörn should be on the train home now. Søren will pick them up from the train station. Hopefully, he won’t get stuck in traffic. People seem to forget how to handle snow every single year, which always results in huge jams.

“How was your weekend?” Eduard asks Vinh, who is also in the line to get an overpriced sandwich in the cafeteria, and looking searchingly at the crowd. Most people have meetings on Mondays, so it tends to be busy. “Kveta’s in a meeting.”

“I’m _looking_ for Niran,” she tells him sharply, but there is a flush on her high cheekbones that makes him smile. “He’s much less nosy than you, anyway.”

“That doesn’t sound plausible at all.”

Niran is many things, including one of the hosts they put on all their visual advertising because he has a trustworthy sort of face, but he’s also very much a gossip. Vinh’s lips quirk.

“Alright, that’s a lie. My weekend was quiet. It’s the triathlon off-season.”

It’s always the triathlon off-season for Eduard, and has been since the one they made him complete in high school. He hadn’t even been bad at it, and thinks he wouldn’t be now if he had some training. He just hated school sports with a burning passion. Vinh is some sort of superwoman in that aspect.

“I was dragged to a Christmas tree farm,” he tells her.

She frowns at him.

“My cousins’ fault.”

They finally get to the place in line where they can grab a sandwich. Vinh selects the last salmon one. He takes one with cheese and mustard, and also fills a cup with hot water for tea.

“ _Nosy_ ,” she mumbles. And, “I see Niran. Are you…”

He waves her off. She and Niran have been friends for a long time; he wouldn’t want to impose.

The second he sits down at an unoccupied table, he is joined by David from the early morning show and a chagrined-looking Nadzeya, who’s holding a gigantic tumbler of coffee.

“Afternoon!” David greets. He’s in short sleeves and has a pair of sunglasses in his dark hair. For all the world, he could be celebrating his summer vacation instead of advent.

“Isn’t it a little late for you?” Eduard asks him. Not that David ever seems anything less than 160% awake. It’s quite alarming sometimes.

“I was doing a whole bit with Manon and Angélique at eight that made all my meetings run late,” he explains unapologetically, leaning back in his chair. “And we’re trying to pull things together for the charity drive, yeah? My mother thinks it’d be nice if someone came to help out at the animal sanctuary, actually.”

Nadzeya takes a long drink of her coffee, pulls a small makeup bag out, and starts applying more eyeshadow.

“So I was asking Manon and Angélique about it, but Manon says she’s allergic, so it’s just me and Angélique for now,” David continues, taking a deep breath when he pauses for a second. “What about you? You up for that?”

Eduard knows for a fact that Manon has three cats at home that she’s certainly not allergic to, and David would surely know that if he ever listened to her instead of just Angélique. Her reasons for bowing out, Eduard suspects, are more of the not wanting to be a third wheel variety. He looks at Nadzeya, who rolls her eyes.

“Think about it, yeah?” David says jovially, then leans a little closer to him and lowers his voice, inasmuch as David ever lowers his voice. “What about that man who called me? What was up with that?”

“It’s, ah…” He glances at Nadzeya again. Sighs. “Probably my—”

He realizes he doesn’t have a frame of reference for how David would react to him being… Not straight, for lack of a better term. He seems like such a prime example of a straight jock, and Eduard has learned to be wary of people like that, which makes him angry sometimes but still seems to be the best decision.

“What?” David asks blithely. Nadzeya abruptly puts her makeup away and leans over to Eduard from his other side, pale hair brushing his shoulder.

“ _Was it fucking Borisov_?” she hisses. He sighs, and she squares her jaw. “That _asshole_. He’s got no right.”

“Nadz,” Eduard starts, nervously looking at David, who’s drawn his impressive eyebrows together in confusion.

“He never did know how to handle anything. You two were a mess.” She glares at her coffee, then looks at Eduard and sees him watching the understanding dawn on David’s face with trepidation. “ _Eduard_ , you do know this guy has hit on both me and Dragos? _At the same time_?”

He stares at her. _How_ in the world could he have known that? It’s not like he hangs around her all the time.

“It was worth a shot,” David says cheerfully, but his expression quickly turns uncharacteristically serious again. “So it was an ex, am I getting that right?”

Shrugging helplessly, Eduard puts the last of his sandwich in his mouth to avoid having to reply.

“That’s fucked up, man. Good thing I cut him off.”

Eduard nods, chewing. Nadzeya swallows almost half of her coffee in one go, and David is distracted by that for a bit. She glares at him. He just grins, unrepentant.

“I’m fourteen years older than you,” she says.

“And?”

“Nadzeya,” Eduard interrupts, “don’t worry about Stefan. I can handle it. Also—”

“He ruined the band,” she mumbles, pulling her wide sleeves down over her hands. David makes a surprised sound.

“ _Also_ ,” Eduard continues, “it’s a quarter to two.”

“Fucking _Christ_.” Without another word, she stands up and leaves, almost bowling over Kveta, who’s just arriving in the cafeteria.

“So was it a recent breakup or am I okay to hit on you?” David asks, and starts laughing when Eduard chokes on his tea. He thumps him on the back, hard, while Eduard gasps for breath. “I’m joking, Eduard, I’m joking!”

“I’m seventeen years older than you,” he wheezes.

“Everyone with the ages. You okay?”

It takes a minute, but then Eduard feels like he can breathe again. He takes a careful sip of his tea, which is still too warm to gulp the way he wants to.

David says, “Let me get—”

A bottle of water is pushed into Eduard’s hands, and he looks up through tears to find Kveta standing next to him, arms crossed over an imperial purple suit jacket that she doesn’t seem to be wearing anything underneath. He kind of feels like he should be averting his eyes, so he does so, because he has to drink the water. Gratefully, he takes some deep breaths, with David gently rubbing his back.

“David, what did you do to him?” Kveta asks sternly.

“Nothing, regrettably.” David laughs sheepishly when Eduard nearly starts coughing again. “Hold on to your ass, mate. It’s just habit. You good?”

“I’m okay,” Eduard says hoarsely. “Thank you, Kveta.”

“Sure,” she says. “It sounded like you were hacking up a damn lung there.”

She pulls out the chair Nadzeya was occupying and sits down, putting her elbows on the table. Most of her short hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, but a significant amount is loose on the bottom. David winks at her, and she raises one eyebrow, amused.

“I should go, anyway,” David says, standing up. “Eduard, let me know what you think about joining us, yeah?”

He waves over his shoulder as he walks out of the cafeteria. Kveta raises both eyebrows at Eduard, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Join him, huh?”

“Shut up,” Eduard mumbles, taking his glasses off to clean the teardrops from it with his sleeve. “It’s about the fundraiser.”

“I know, I know.” She laughs. “He started it. But I thought we were gonna do that together. Vinh said we might.”

“ _Did_ she?” He puts his glasses back on to catch her flat look. “We don’t know yet. Iryna’s putting everything in order, and then we’ll have to see who gets to do what.”

“I guess. I’m looking forward to it, you know. I feel like this could be something recurring.”

“We’ll see,” he says.

“How’s your stalker problem?”

“I don’t think he likes when you call it that,” Vinh says, leaning on the backs of both of their chairs. Kveta looks up at her, biting her lower lip and adjusting her jacket.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“I’m not sure how it is,” Eduard tells her, shrugging one shoulder. “I haven’t heard anything in a while, but I’m quite sure I know who it is, at least.”

Vinh and Kveta are both about the age he was when the whole thing with Stefan started, he realizes. It’s, for some reason, a strangely sobering thought. He drinks some more water. Vinh tells Kveta she looks nice, and he decides to check his phone for a bit.

Tuomi has texted that he’s on his way, with a picture of Torbjörn looking out of the train window at the snowy landscape while he absently pets the little fluffy white dog in his lap.

 _Safe travels!_ Eduard replies.

Tolys has asked if he’s coming over for dinner.

_Feliks insists on trying out Christmas dishes and they are so. Big. You need to save me._

Ah, it’s that time again, when Feliks remembers he’s actually a good cook, then cooks so much that he doesn’t want to until next December. Eduard replies to Tolys that he’d love to come over and to expect him around seven. After that, he scrolls through the news for a while, with Vinh now leaning her hip against his chair, and then he does the same with his contacts before deciding to send Søren a message.

 _I hope traffic isn’t too bad_ , he writes. _Let me know if you need me to pick the boys up._

Lars and Peter are going to some friends after school—Peter has hockey practice—before they can return home when Tuomi and Torbjörn get there, but that could take a while.

 _I’m just leavin! Thanks!!_ Søren replies. _Have a good show without me interruptin lol_

 _I didn’t mind at all_ , Eduard texts before he can think better of it. _It was nice._

 _I thought so too!!!! Still need to come back someday right? Lemme know about that_ 😉

Eduard will find a way, probably. Before he can reply, Søren sends a crooked selfie from his car and writes, _Really need to b goin but don’t worry I’m listenin to you_

Quickly after that, _(I’m really not bc car radio’s impossible to hear but it’s the thought that counts lol)_

Eduard laughs.

_Alright, go then. Be safe!_

He doesn’t get a response, so Søren’s is probably on his way now. He puts his phone away before Kveta or Vinh decides to make fun of him for receiving a selfie from someone. It’s about time to get set up either way, so he stands, puts his trash away, and walks to the studio.

Nadzeya corners him almost immediately, leaving Dragos to talk to their listeners, which he does with a flat look her way.

“Look,” she says, “I just wanna make sure Stefan’s not doing something that’s actually, you know, _bad_. I still think I misjudged him back then.”

“It isn’t your fault I have bad taste in men, Nadzeya,” he tells her. There are very few things he’s ever seen her guilty about, and he doesn’t know whether to be proud that this one involves him. On most days, it seems she mostly just regrets it for the band, which was her project as much as it was Eduard’s, but sometimes, like now… She really seems to feel bad for introducing him and Stefan in the first place.

It was a coincidence that they both ended up working for Radio 8, but it’s been unexpectedly nice having her around again since she joined.

“Are we gossiping or something?” Dragos asks, sauntering over while Eduard sets up his laptop. This time, Nadzeya is the one left to entertain the listeners.

“Ten-year-old gossip,” he says.

“Ah.” Dragos nods. “Nadzeya’s infamous band that she thinks I don’t know about. You know, don’t tell her, but I saw you guys live once.”

Eduard pauses, surprised, and Dragos grins, touching his front teeth with his tongue.

“You’re good on keys. Too bad you guys quit.”

“Well, yes, it was…” He gestures. “The lead singer…”

“The guy who drunkenly hit on me, yeah.” He pulls a corner of his mouth down. Eduard can only stare, an unpleasant chill washing over him.

“He… Stefan?”

Carefully studying him with intent rust-brown eyes, Dragos nods.

“But you were—how old are you?”

“I was almost twenty at the time.” Dragos bites his cheek and checks that Nadzeya is still occupied. “If he hadn’t been drunk, I might’ve taken him up on it, too.”

“He was drunk a lot,” Eduard says faintly. It’d been part of the problem, though not the largest part. All of them had been a little reckless sometimes.

“Yeah, I got that impression. Sorry, I don’t think that was good gossip.”

“It’s… Nothing new, really. It’s just strange how worlds collide sometimes.”

Dragos pushes his wispy hair away from his face. “I guess. I should get back before Nadz fires me.”

That’s probably smart.

If there is one thing Eduard didn’t expect, it was this strange connection to the past, but then again, Dragos has a talent for showing up in strange places anyway. Last year’s fundraiser, he made people bid on him getting off the roof. He stayed there for nearly two weeks.

Vinh takes one look at Eduard when she arrives, and sighs a very put-upon sigh.

“What now?” she asks.

“Hey!” Eduard says indignantly, but he catches the beginnings of a smile when she turns away from him, which makes him smile too.

Like he told Dragos: it’s not new information, just unexpected. He resolves not to let it affect him any further.

The show goes off without a hitch; he and Vinh have a nice little back-and-forth about Christmas music and what they should do for the fundraiser. His listeners always seem to like having her on air.

On the bus to Tolys and Feliks’s place, Eduard receives texts from both Søren and Tuomi. Tuomi’s is just a picture of the train station, his dog half visible and an edge of Søren’s bright hair poking into the frame. He sends a smiley back.

Søren has sent, _Got em!! We’ll probably get back in time to get the kids fingers crossed_

 _Good! Safe travels_ , Eduard replies.

Søren sends a thumbs-up emoji.

“Eduard!” Feliks exclaims when he opens the door of his house. He kisses the air on both sides of his face without actually touching him at all, like always, and takes his coat. Eduard takes his shoes off as well, so he doesn’t tread sludgy snow all over the house.

Tolys is setting the table, his hair in a practical little ponytail. He greets Eduard warmly.

“Can I help?” Eduard asks, knowing full well he will just be asked to sit and wait for a moment. Feliks would probably have let him help.

He sits and waits.

Feliks presents his meal with the usual flair, laughing at himself when he’s done and sitting down next to Tolys.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” he tells Eduard.

“You’re always busy,” he replies, and Feliks shrugs, smiling a delicate little smile.

“Finally found a job I like. It only took me twenty years.”

Tolys smiles fondly while he tucks into his sweet potatoes, silent. Feliks chatters on about his architecture work and about cooking, and how he’s taken up horse-riding again like he’s wanted to for ages.

Eduard manages to talk him into at least letting him help with the dishes, even if they just need to go in the dishwasher.

“Tolys told me you had some weird calls,” Feliks says, leaning on the kitchen counter and watching Eduard put the last glass in the dishwasher.

“Hm-m. My ex, most likely,” he adds, because Tolys wouldn’t have told him that part. He places a high value on privacy, even just between friends. Even between himself and his partner. It’s something Eduard appreciates about him.

“Oh. That sucks.” Feliks scratches his chin and shakes his hair out of his face. “Let me know if I can, like, do anything?”

Eduard smiles, closing the dishwasher. Although Feliks is no longer the self-absorbed man he was when they first met seven years ago, empathizing will never be his strongest point. That’s what Tolys is for in that relationship. They’ve got a good balance, he reckons.

“Of course.”

“Wanna play a game?” Feliks asks, already walking back to the living room because Eduard always says yes. Feliks is the best chess player he knows. One day, he’ll win, he’s sure.

One day, but today is not that day.

The fire crackles in the hearth, Tolys’s fountain pen scratches gently on his paper, and Feliks takes Eduard’s queen neatly. He snaps his fingers. Tolys laughs.

“I’ll get you someday,” Eduard says, distractedly because his phone is buzzing.

 _We’re home!_ Tuomi has sent. _Søren says hi_

_Great! You say hello to the boys from me._

_Of course! I’m glad to see them again. Torbjörn just wants to sleep in our own bed again. Can I come over tomorrow? Got a souvenir for you_

_Sure_ , Eduard texts. _See you tomorrow, then!_

“Another round?” Feliks asks, putting the last knight back in place.

“Yeah, let’s try again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also featuring/mentioned:  
> Niran - Thailand  
> Manon - Belgium  
> Angélique - Seychelles
> 
> This chapter was mostly just an excuse to write some of my favorite characters interacting! Especially Bela and Oz because I always imagine their interactions would be absolutely Wild, and I love both of them :D And it seemed weird to mention Bul so much and not have Ro know him any way,,
> 
> Also, the other day, I saw the most Finnish thing ever: a sauna thermometer that was merch for a metal band. I almost bought it just because I was so amazed.


	8. VIII. Mittens

Eduard is still shoveling the snow that has fallen overnight when Tuomi arrives, carrying his dog so she doesn’t disappear in the snowdrifts on the sidewalk, white as she is. He’s bundled up in a blue coat and hat and waving at Eduard. The dog yips excitedly. She tries to leap out of his arms, probably wanting to get inside, but Tuomi manages to hold her.

“Welcome back!” Eduard says, pushing the last snow out of the way and taking his gloves off to stretch his cold fingers. “Come in.”

Inside, Tuomi puts the dog on the ground.

“Be good, Kukkamuna,” he warns her, and she wags her little tail excitedly. Eduard has never known that dog not to be good, so he crouches to pet her while Tuomi takes his coat and shoes off, putting them next to Eduard’s. He takes his backpack with its many pins and patches with him to the living room, where he pauses to admire the Christmas tree for a moment, bag slung over one shoulder.

“Pete and Lars picked this one, I hear,” he says.

“They did, yes. Coffee?”

“Please. Come, Kukka!”

The dog jumps into his lap when he sits down on the couch, tucking himself into his usual corner. Eduard makes coffee for both Tuomi and himself, tipping an alarming amount of sugar into his cousin’s. Coffee is about the only thing that Tuomi doesn’t like, but he keeps drinking it anyway. Trying to get him to quit has long since proven futile, so everyone has given up by now. It’s just one of the many quirks he has.

“Lars said he’d like to stay with you instead of Søren next time,” Tuomi tells him when he gets back. He takes his coffee. “Thank you.”

“Did he?” Eduard laughs. “He didn’t really give me that impression.”

“Yeah, he takes after Torbjörn.”

Stirring his coffee with one hand, Tuomi reaches into his backpack and pulls a paper bag out, handing it to Eduard over the coffee table.

“We brought you a souvenir. Torbjörn wanted to get you a music box, but it annoyed the shit out of me, so it’s just this.”

Eduard opens the bag and pulls out a pair of soft, knitted mittens, the pattern in white and blue depicting the crest of the mountain town where his cousin stayed for the week. He smiles delightedly and puts them on. Tuomi laughs.

“Perfect, Ed!” He pulls his phone out for a picture, so Eduard holds a thumb up.

Those can go with his collection of odds and ends in the attic that he likes to call his box of memories. It’s mostly souvenirs from holidays he may or may not have been on himself, but also includes concert tickets, articles from music magazines about the band or ones that he wrote himself, and his university diploma. It seems silly to keep it in a place of honor when he feels like he hasn’t used any sort of programming since he graduated, let alone the high-level mathematical stuff he studied for.

He wonders if knowing he has a degree would make Lars more or less inclined to be impressed with him. Probably less, knowing him.

“Be careful with that tree,” Tuomi is telling Kukkamuna. She is nowhere near it, and in fact returns to his lap almost immediately.

“So, you had a good holiday?” Eduard asks. He puts the mittens on the coffee table for now. He might actually wear them. They’re cute.

“Yes! It was lovely, all these nice little shops, I’m sure you’d love them, and there’s some great hiking trails. Just nice to have some time off, you know.” He smiles softly. “Fourteen years we’ve been married, can you believe it?”

“I’d be hard-pressed not to, the way you talk about him,” Eduard replies, fond.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Tuomi jokes. “Speaking of, Peter and Lars say you and Søren got along pretty well.”

“ _Speaking of_ ,” Eduard echoes, which just makes Tuomi laugh. He’s wearing a sweater that Torbjörn probably knit himself, because Torbjörn—as the incredibly stale joke goes—is ‘good with his hands’. He would’ve built their whole house from the ground up if he’d had the time. It was something else that Eduard used to be intimidated by but is now just something about the man he admires.

Eduard wonders if Søren is good with his hands and flushes, thinking about warm fingers on his neck and the quick and sure way he uses sign language.

“It’s okay!” Tuomi says. “I’d never thought about it, but I guess you _would_ get along with him. I don’t know if there’s people who don’t get along with Søren, these days. I mean, I thought he was annoying as fuck when I met him, but he’s a little… _Less_ , now. And you do need some excitement in your life every now and then.”

“ _Tuomi_ ,” Eduard groans.

“Just saying. Hey, you could be my cousin _and_ my brother-in-law, how about that?”

“I don’t think it works that way,” Eduard says, momentarily distracted from his own embarrassment to try and puzzle that one out. Tuomi just laughs again.

“Oh, in fact, that reminds me. You’re invited to Sunday lunch. Mom’s coming, and maybe Torbjörn’s parents if the snow isn’t too bad, and Søren as well.”

“What’s the occasion?”

At that, Tuomi just shrugs, grinning. Well, sometimes you just feel like gathering people around yourself, Eduard supposes, without the pressure of things like Christmas dinner. Sunday lunches are infrequent but always welcome.

“I was hoping…” Tuomi says. “I looked around, you know, but I don’t think Erzsébet has been there in a long time. I wasn’t really expecting to find anything, but still.”

Eduard nods with a sigh. The last time they heard from Erzsébet, almost eight years ago now, she was in the mountains, somewhere near where Tuomi went this past week. It isn’t the reason he chose that place, but before he left, he asked Eduard if he should have a look around to see if he could find anything that could lead them closer to their eldest cousin. Both of them still hold out hope that they’ll find out what happened to her one day.

She’d been pulling away for a while before she disappeared, getting lost in strange places with people that worried them and her friends. For a while after he last heard from her, Eduard looked through newspapers for mentions of a woman in her thirties who matched Erzsébet’s description, although he couldn’t have said what he was looking for. He never found anything, anyway, but he _knows_ she’s out there somewhere, because if Erzsébet is anything, it’s one of the strongest people he’s known in his life.

Erzsébet is also very stubborn, so it’s possible she won’t ever want to come back and at least talk to them, but he can still hope. Above all, he wants answers, like with everything in his life. He hates not understanding things.

“She’ll come back someday,” he tells Tuomi.

“I hope so,” he mumbles, scratching the dog behind her ears. “She’s welcome. I should invite Uncle Daniel to lunch, we don’t see him enough.”

That might be nice. Erzsébet’s father seems lonely sometimes.

“Anyway,” Tuomi continues, shaking his head as if to indicate he’s done with the subject, “Søren said he’d liked spending time with you as well, you know.”

Eduard ducks his head, lacing his fingers together. Tuomi’s smile is gentle, cheeks dimpling, but he feels a little made fun of anyway.

“So, we’d like to see you Sunday.”

“Of course,” Eduard says. “I’ll be there. Can I bring something?”

“You? Always.” Tuomi grins.

They catch up for a while longer, Eduard telling him about the fundraiser, and then Tuomi suddenly pauses.

“You said something about weird stuff that had happened, right, the other day?”

“Right.” Eduard has forgotten Tuomi doesn’t know the details about that yet. It feels like he’s told just about everyone at this point, which is uncharacteristic of him. “You remember Stefan, right?”

He frowns, scratching absently at one of the tattoos on his forearm and rotating his wedding ring with his thumb.

“Wait, Stefan _Borisov_?” he exclaims, and the dog, who had been dozing, jumps off his lap.

“Yep, Stefan Borisov,” Eduard confirms wearily. “He’s called the radio station… Three times, now, each time asking for me and refusing to say anything else.”

“Stefan Borisov called the radio station? That’s… Real weird, Ed. What did he even want?”

“I don’t know. It’s—” His phone buzzes, and he glances at it to find that he has been forwarded an email through management. Barely even looking, he opens it to check if it’s urgent. “ _Fuck_.”

“What?” Tuomi stands up, dislodging Kukkamuna, who yips, offended.

“He’s sent an email to management.”

“ _Give_.” Tuomi practically yanks his phone out of his hand and reads the email. “Eduard… He’s apologizing for calling the station.”

“What?” Eduard breathes. Tuomi holds his phone out of his reach when he tries to grab it.

“Wants them to let you know he won’t do it again.”

“Really?” He releases a heavy breath. “That’s… Is it really from him?”

“Signed S Borisov,” Tuomi confirms. “This is _good_ , Ed! He came to his senses.”

“ _A moment of weakness_ ,” Eduard whispers. He’s relieved, of course, but still… Wary. Stefan, when he knew him well, changed his mind often, so all this is not to say that it’s really over. And he would have liked an explanation, if there is one that Stefan could give. Tuomi sits down next to him, briefly touching his leg.

“Stefan Borisov can’t do shit to you,” he says, staring intently at him from underneath sandy blond hair. “Here.”

He gives Eduard his phone back, and he reads the email nervously. Kukkamuna lies down on his feet, warming them. Tuomi was right, Stefan wants management to let him know that he tried to contact him through the station’s means, but that he will not be doing that anymore going forward because he realized it might be distressing.

“This is good,” he says, trying to convince himself as much as anything. It doesn’t say Stefan will not try anything _else_ , after all, but… He should realize that that would be distressing as well, shouldn’t he? He’s smart enough for that.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Tuomi says. “Jesus, Ed, you were really worried, weren’t you?”

He was, but it’s _over_ now, and he won’t have to think about Stefan again, just like he hasn’t for most of the past ten years. Tuomi has now pulled his own phone out and is typing rapidly.

“What are you doing?” Eduard asks.

“Texting Søren.”

“Søren?” he echoes. Tuomi just grins. It’s quite worrying.

Not much later, Tuomi takes his leave with a quick hug, picking his dog back up, and Eduard takes his car to get groceries and the bus to the radio station after that.

He doesn’t tell Vinh about the email, still a little afraid Stefan might change his mind about the whole thing. Kveta brings garlands to the studio and asks him to help her hang them, but he bows out to go home and maybe order dinner because he isn’t feeling up to cooking at all.

At the bus stop near the station, however, he spots a familiar man slouched against the side of the building behind it, coppery hair bright under a streetlight in the gloom. Gentle snowflakes descend around him, glittering on his leather-clad shoulders and the noses of his boots.

“Søren?” Eduard asks when he reaches him, and the man puts his phone in his pocket, grinning his way. His eyes are the same shade of blue as the darkening horizon. He seems strangely out of place here, like some sort of specter in the warm light. Unexpected, but, Eduard thinks, not unwelcome.

“Hey, Eduard! Glad I caught you.” He gestures with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His nose is a little red with cold. How long has he been out here? What if Eduard had decided to help Kveta with those garlands?

“Did Tuomi tell you to—”

“No,” Søren interrupts, studying his expression. “Just said I should text you, but it’s, well. I don’t know, really. Why not come see you instead?” He runs a hand over his hair, shaking melting snow out of it. “It seemed like a good idea.”

Eduard releases a very heavy breath that fogs up his glasses, and he sags when Søren catches his shoulders. He was strung tighter than he thought, he realizes. He was still trying very hard to convince himself to believe the email.

“Hey,” Søren is saying. “Hey, it’s— You’re fine. You’re fine, right? I was gonna get you dinner, but—”

“I’m fine,” Eduard breathes. He meets Søren’s eye and smiles, biting his lower lip hard. “I’m okay. Dinner sounds great.”

“Okay.”

They stand there for a long moment while Eduard catches his breath, Søren’s hands heavy and reassuring on his shoulders, his fingers gently moving. It’s like a beat neither of them can hear. Like the silence of snowfall.

“How do you feel about getting some takeout?” Søren asks, voice lower than normally. “Greek, maybe?”

Eduard nods, swallowing. He tucks his chin into his coat.

“Thank you,” he says. It wouldn’t be great for him to be alone with his thoughts right now, he’s learned that much over the years. Tuomi understands that, and maybe Søren does as well.

“Good! Gonna get some baklava.” He slings an arm over Eduard’s shoulders and steers him away from the bus stop towards a nearby parking spot.

In the car, he leans over to Eduard and gently brushes snowflakes from his hair. His expression is soft. Eduard’s chest feels full, but in a better way.

“Yours or mine?” Søren asks.

“Yours is fine,” Eduard says. Søren starts the car, and drives them through the snowy evening in peaceful silence.

They don’t speak much the rest of the evening either, but even without Peter and Lars to fill up the silences, it’s nice. Søren is always moving, tapping his foot or moving his fingers as if he’s signing out his thoughts, and it distracts Eduard just enough from his own thoughts that he doesn’t drown in them. He tries to teach him chess on a board drawn on a piece of paper for about fifteen minutes, using various kitchen implements as game pieces. They probably spend longer gathering those than actually playing, and it doesn’t work but it makes Søren laugh so that’s okay.

Søren drives him home too, touching his leg before he leaves the car.

“Hey, I had a pretty good evening, all things considered,” he says. “So, you know, see you ‘round?”

“Yes. I’ll… Yes, certainly. Goodnight, Søren.”

Søren touches his chin with his fingertips and then waves both hands sharply down in front of his face. Winks.

“Goodnight, Eduard.”

His taillights disappear into the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To pick out any mistakes I read over, I like to make a text-to-speech progam read a chapter before I post it, which is very effective but also Very Funny because it _cannot_ pronounce basically any of the names correctly. Especially Sweden's, who is reffered to as either Torporn or Torbjohn. Also, baklava will now be known as baked layva.


	9. IX. snowman

“Alright, good morning, everyone! I’m so glad you’re all here.” Ajuma smiles at the too many people stuffed into the conference room at the radio station. The only ones missing are the hosts who do early morning or late-night shows and are resting right now, one or two who have other jobs, and Angélique and Manon, who are on air.

“Well, as we all know by now, Iryna and some of us have been hard at work gathering ideas for our replacement fundraiser this year, and we wanted to give an update, because it’s coming along well enough that we need more input. None of this is really my idea, of course, but I’m always happy to help, so I’ll do the talking.”

Eduard shifts his weight, trying not to jam his elbow into Dragos, who’s standing next to him. He’s excited to hear what has been arranged so far, and hopes he can help out more. Iryna asked him first, after all, and he’s been too preoccupied to do anything for her.

“So!” Ajuma claps her hands. “The idea is that instead of raising money for one cause this year, those of us who can will spend a day doing volunteer work somewhere in the country and make a report about it. We’re still thinking about doing live broadcasts as well, but the logistics of that are always a hassle, so maybe only some people will be able to do that.”

There’s an agreeing mumble from everyone in the room.

“And hopefully, we can encourage our listeners to donate some money or time to those places. Iryna’s been working on a list of charities and nonprofits, right?”

Iryna, who is sat in front of Ajuma at the head of the table, turned sideways in her seat, nods. Her cheeks are quite red, probably with excitement.

“We’ve already got options, but we do want for people to be able to keep sending suggestions until the end of the week, and we can go out in the time between then and Christmas.” She counts the days on her fingers. “Which should leave us with enough time to edit and then broadcast everything in Christmas week.”

From somewhere to the right of Eduard, the familiar voice of David pipes up, “What about Christmas day? We can’t do a big reveal like always if we don’t raise money centrally.”

Ajuma tilts her head, looking down at Iryna, who shrugs one shoulder, thin eyebrows drawn together.

“I guess we’re not sure about that, so if any of you have ideas, just email them to Iryna. We’ll meet again at the end of the week to finalize those plans.” She smiles.

It’d be strange not to have some grand finale on Christmas day proper, Eduard thinks. It’s usually quite a party. He’s sure they could find at least one musician willing to perform on the station, though, such is the fame of the December drive. That would go a long way towards making the whole thing, whatever it is, feel festive and special. He makes a note to contact some people and ask them about it.

“Any questions for now?” Ajuma asks.

Niran asks if they’ll have to do the reports alone or if they can team up with someone else. Everyone in the room immediately leans forward as though they’re in high school and the teacher is telling them their group assignments, except everyone actually wants to do this project and there isn’t anyone Eduard wouldn’t want to be partnered with, at least on a personal level. There are some hosts he might not mesh well with professionally, in the way they present, but he doesn’t dislike anyone who works for Radio 8.

“Definitely teams!” Ajuma says, and Iryna is nodding. “It will be fun for the listeners to hear us interact with different people. I say we’ll have to work those teams out ourselves, as long as we reach the right number of reports. We could do multiple, if needed.”

“Here I was, looking forward to not being picked last like I was in gym class again,” says someone at the front, maybe Alfred from the weekend afternoon show. Good to know Eduard isn’t the only one thinking about high school right now. Ajuma just laughs, a little helplessly.

“I’m sure it’ll work out. All of it.”

Since no one else has any questions and several people are already writing emails to Iryna or to other people they know who might help with the fundraiser, the meeting is adjourned.

Eduard supposes that fundraiser isn’t entirely the right word for this plan, and that reminds him they’ll need to come up with a name for the whole thing so they can advertise it on the station and on the website. Large-scale advertisements like for TV or on bus stops won’t be possible, of course, unless he’s severely underestimating the connections someone at Radio 8 has, but it will still need to be catchy to get people to listen.

Since it’s not yet lunchtime and far too early to start working on his show, Eduard puts on the playlist of new music that he follows on his phone and decides to take a walk around the area instead. He would much prefer to walk in the forest or on the beach, but the snowy, icy buildings will do for the time being.

Most buildings around here belong to some kind of media-centric company, be that a radio station or television channel, or one of the many production companies. He runs into a crowd of people who might have been the audience for some sort of big studio Christmas show, all dressed in glittery outfits and talking excitedly and looking quite out of place in the grey late morning. It froze hard overnight, and the snow has turned deceptively icy in places. Three people fall over.

In the tiny park, or what passes for it, next to a building Eduard’s pretty sure houses a soap opera set, he watches two grown men build a snowman for a while, giggling like children. He vaguely recognizes them; they might be actors on the soap opera. Hopefully, this won’t end up in a gossip rag. Both men grin and wave pleasantly at him when they’re done and walk back to the building. The snowman they’ve made is lumpy and tiny, but it’s quite charming, in its way.

He takes a picture of it, vaguely thinking about sending it to Søren, who might find it amusing. It seems like something he would do.

In the end, he posts it on Instagram instead, which is something he isn’t great at because he’s always done better with text-based social media, but it’s what everyone’s doing these days, so, as a public person, he had to as well. In the caption, he writes something about the event they’re working on, his fingers slowly turning numb with the damp cold. He should get some of those gloves that allow you to use your touchscreen while wearing them and not have worn the mittens Tuomi gifted him.

The cold is turning unpleasant and it looks like it might snow—or hail, maybe—so Eduard walks quickly back to Radio 8’s building.

A little too quickly.

He slips right in front of the door on a patch of ice he didn’t see, and closes his eyes for the impact, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he is hauled up bodily by both his armpits, and he looks over his shoulder when he’s back upright, right into Vinh’s supremely unimpressed face.

“Did… What?” he stammers.

“ _Thank you, Vinh_ ,” she says, tucking her nose over her shawl.

“Yes, thank you. Of course.” He doesn’t know why he’s surprised at all that she can just lift him with seemingly no effort. Of course she can. Distantly, he wonders if Kveta’s jealous of him, because she’s the type, honestly. He dusts his coat off uselessly.

“Nice mittens. Do try to stay upright,” Vinh tells him, walking past him into the building. Carefully avoiding the ice, he follows her in. Iryna, behind her reception desk, raises her eyebrows at him.

“Don’t tell me you saw that,” he sighs, but she just laughs. “ _Iryna_!”

In the cafeteria, where he eats soup to try and warm back up, he writes an email, so at least his embarrassment was good for _something_.

_The fundraiser replacement needs a name. How about we call it the Kind Ice Week?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to make Kenya this important bc she's barely canon but then I accidentally mentioned her once and now it wouldn't make sense for her _not_ to be involved. So, you know, have some Kenya! c:  
> It's a small chapter, this one! Not every day can be exciting


	10. X. surprise

It’s only the fact that he has headphones in that makes Eduard notice that his phone is ringing, because it interrupts his music. He can barely hear himself singing along, let alone speaking, over the noise of the vacuum cleaner, so he turns it off while he pulls his phone out of his pocket to answer the call.

“Huh,” he says, looking at the screen, and pushes the green icon. “Hello!”

“Hi! Uh, this is Lars.”

“Good morning, Lars,” Eduard greets his cousin. “This is Eduard.”

Lars huffs. There is chatter in the background of the call, what sounds like a good amount of people talking over each other. Eduard looks at the old clock on the wall.

“Aren’t you in school right now?” he asks, because it’s barely ten in the morning.

“Yes, but, well, we’ve got this project.” Lars takes a deep breath as if he’s nervous, which makes Eduard smile fondly. “It’s about what kind of professions we might be interested in, in the future, and one of the options we can do is to have an interview with someone, and, uh…”

Eduard’s smile grows wider. “Do you want to interview me?”

“Well… I mean, that would be okay too, but I was thinking about your… Production assistant? The woman with the green shirt who was there the other day.”

That’s somewhat surprising, because Lars always seems like someone who likes to be the center of attention, but then, maybe that’s just because he’s competing with his brother over it. He’s certainly got a knack for the technical side of things as well, like both of his parents. Would Vinh be willing to talk to a twelve-year-old boy about her job, though?

“It’s probably busy right now,” Lars continues, while a school bell rings in the background, “but we have until January and I just wanted to ask.”

“Of course!” Eduard says. “Yes, of course. I can’t promise that Vinh will want to do an interview, but I’ll ask her, and I could ask one of the other production assistants if she doesn’t.”

At that, Lars sighs in relief, the line crackling with it.

“Thanks,” he says, obviously trying to sound cool about it. Eduard decides to let him, because he’s honestly pretty excited about this interest he has in radio. It’s not a very popular medium, these days, at least compared to how it used to be, and even if he’s never doubted that they will be able to continue existing as long as there’s music, it does feel sometimes like no one under 25 listens to them.

Well, that might have to do with the music they play, of course.

“No problem, Lars! I’ll ask her this afternoon when I see her, okay?”

“Good.” Lars asks for her full name so he can write it in his report, and Eduard can hear the clicks of a mechanical keyboard when he tells him. “Alright, thanks.”

“Should I text you when I know if she’ll do it?”

His cousin hums something in the affirmative, probably vaguely embarrassed about being texted by someone Eduard’s age like Eduard would have been when he was twelve, if texting had been possible then. He does suppose having someone call your house phone which your parents might pick up would be more embarrassing, though. He doesn’t tell Lars this, because Lars probably already thinks he’s ancient and doesn’t need any more fuel. He just tells him to have a good day at school, to which he gets another mumbly response.

“Alright, goodbye, Lars!”

“Bye, first cousin once removed Eduard.”

While Eduard is still trying to think of an appropriate response to that and failing to hold in his chuckles, Lars just hangs up on him without another word. _That’s_ definitely Tuomi’s fault. He never knew how to end a conversation either. Erzsébet liked to make fun of him for it.

Erzsébet didn’t even know how to say goodbye properly in real life, of course, but that’s another story entirely.

After finishing his cleaning, Eduard opens his laptop, meaning to read some articles and reviews on music websites he follows, but, not for the first time, he finds himself navigating to Google instead. He starts typing, and the suggestion pops up after two letters; _Erzsébet Héderváry_. It’s a well-worn search, and it never really changes, not even when he sorts by newest results.

It’s just her old Facebook page, untouched for seven years, some news articles that mention her as part of her college swim team, some posts from her friends on various social media asking her to contact them. Never anything new.

Not today either, unsurprisingly.

Eduard sighs and reads those articles, listening to a crackling old Kansas record that once belonged to his mother. The hysterical keyboard—well, organ—solos make him think of Søren. The crackling might be a problem, though, which is how he finds himself looking around on various websites trying to find a newly-pressed record of the same album. It might be a nice Christmas gift, never mind that he’s never given Søren a Christmas gift before even if they did see each other at Tuomi and Torbjörn’s party.

He’s never had the chance to know what he might want before, is all.

Maybe he doesn’t have a record player. Eduard doesn’t recall seeing one. Maybe another gift, then.

He gets a little lost on increasingly vague websites selling all kinds of random things and almost buys a collection of tiny Christmas-themed houses he definitely doesn’t need because he already has a bunch of those, _in the attic_ , and bids entirely too much money on a computer from the eighties that doesn’t even function anymore. He just thinks it would be interesting to look at, is all. And, who knows, maybe he _can_ get it to function again. He’s done it before.

His phone buzzes.

_Are you coming to work or what_

Eduard blinks at the message from Vinh, then at the time. _Three o’clock_? It’s _three_ in the afternoon? He hasn’t even had _lunch_!

 _I’m on my way!_ he quickly texts back, and rushes out the door to his car with a granola bar and a banana. It’s not often, these days, that he falls down the internet rabbit hole, but he’s certainly not immune. That’s why his attic is so full of useless junk. Tolys held a whole intervention once, about his collection of stuff, and him spending too much time bidding on things online and finding yet more on flea markets.

The flea markets are easy to avoid, at least.

He arrives at the station at half past three, so he’s technically not late, but Vinh glares at him anyway. Maybe, he shouldn’t ask her about that interview now. But he did promise Lars. During the first commercial break, after an hour in which she hopefully decided not to be mad at him anymore, he goes to get her some tea.

“Remember my cousins?” he asks, putting the cup down in front of her. She raises a suspicious eyebrow, looking through her lashes.

“They’re hard to forget, honestly,” she says. “What’s this about?”

“Lars asked me—he’s the ginger one—”

“I know their names, Eduard,” she says, sounding faintly amused in that inscrutable way she does. “He’s got a podcast.”

“He does. He asked me to ask you if you want to do an interview with him.” He pauses. “ _Not_ for the podcast. For a school project. It’d be about your job.”

Vinh is silent for a long moment, light brown eyes searching his face.

“Why not yours?” she eventually asks. Eduard shrugs, smiling.

“He’s more interested in yours.”

“Huh,” she says. A slow, small smile tugs at the corner of her lips, and she turns away from Eduard as if she wants to hide it. He decides to let her be for a moment, returning to his microphone to have a talk with the newsreader. The commercial breaks are always longer over December, with everyone trying to sell how much they can provide the real Christmas spirit to their customers. He’s glad he doesn’t have to listen to them.

There is no urgent news at the moment, so the newsreader chats away with him for a few minutes after he does the weather. Some of the newsreaders don’t want to have casual talks, but some, like this one, seem to think it’s okay for them to be a bit more human for the listeners. Eduard isn’t sure what the news agency’s official stance on it is. As long as they don’t voice their opinions about things like politics, he supposes it’s alright.

Starting the show back up, he decides to play a Kansas song, and has to look it up on Spotify because they only have two in the station’s library and neither is the one he wants to hear. He likes to play lesser-known tracks sometimes, because it seems like every song is _someone’s_ favorite, and it always leads to great messages.

He’s reading the excited ones he gets while Point of Know Return plays, and thinking he might call one of the enthusiastic people, when Vinh walks over to him.

“Eduard,” she says.

“Hm?” Turning, he pushes his glasses up and his headphones away, so he can hear her properly.

“Tell your cousin I’ll do his interview.” She opens her mouth as if to say something else, shakes her head, closes it again. Then, “But after Christmas. We’ve got a lot of things to do right now.”

Eduard smiles gratefully, drumming his fingers on the desk behind him.

“I’ll let him know. He’ll be pleased.”

“You know,” she says, turning to walk back to her own soundboard, “I don’t think he’ll tell you that, somehow.”

She’s quite right about that, as Lars just sends an _ok great_ when Eduard lets him know he can do the interview, and to let him know if he needs any help thinking about questions. It makes Eduard laugh, startling Vinh while she packs up and talks to Kveta. Lars doesn’t seem interested in answering further questions about his school project either, answering in monosyllabic words and undecipherable GIFs. It’s all quite baffling.

But, well, he _is_ twelve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter! 
> 
> I was looking through my playlist for music that I could mention and I guess I landed on Kansas this time! I really like their music, tbh. ( _Yes_ , I was a Supernatural fan years ago.) But also, I don't think I have any Radio 8-appropriate music left in there now. I already used CCR and Asia, now all I have is metal and folk, and folk metal :V


	11. XI. mistletoe

Every so often, Tuomi sends Eduard a picture of something with zero context. One time, it was a cow staring over a hedge in the middle of the city; another time, it was just an extremely zoomed in photo of Torbjörn’s face. Today, he sends a tilted picture of what seems very much like Søren’s _behind_ as he’s bent over some sort of construction he’s working on.

 _What_ , Eduard texts his cousin.

 _Thought you’d like my view is all_ , Tuomi sends back. Eduard rolls his eyes and is about to put his phone away so he can concentrate on writing a plan for next week’s regular shows, when Tuomi sends another picture. This time, it’s the enormous Christmas tree in the city’s main square with a half-constructed _something_ in the background.

 _We’re doing the stage setup at the xmas market!_ Tuomi adds for context. _Want to get a coffee at lunchtime?_

 _I do actually have a job_. Eduard thinks it’s easy to forget that he doesn’t only work from four to six in the afternoon, even if it seems like that sometimes. He just does the majority at home.

_That just means you have lunch breaks! I’m gonna tell Søren you don’t wanna see him!!_

That should not work, because Eduard is a grown man and not a desperate teenager, but he finds himself sighing and replying that he’ll stop by after he has lunch, and that it will _just_ be for a coffee and then he’s going back to work.

 _Ok sure!_ Tuomi texts, somehow sounding sarcastic through those six letters. Eduard almost tells him he’s changed his mind, but that wouldn’t fly with Tuomi anyway.

So he finishes writing his plan, unsure how many regular afternoon shows there will actually be next week if they’ll be doing the reports for what has been informally dubbed Kind Ice Week. There will most likely be a lot of shuffling hours around. He makes some notes with ideas for different time slots, should he be asked to cover someone else’s show.

For lunch, he makes a sandwich, and he pulls his sourdough starter out of the fridge to revive it, vaguely thinking about making some bread for Sunday lunch if he feels like it tomorrow.

It’s not a good idea to bike, since the snow is now either sludgy or icy practically everywhere with no inbetween, so as much as he would like to, Eduard takes the bus instead.

It’s only a little past noon when he walks into the relatively quiet pedestrian area in the old city center, which leaves him some time for window shopping in the appropriately decorated streets. There are stars made of string lights strung between the shops, and some stores have fake snow in their windows that looks garishly white next to what little of the real thing remains on the ground. He really does want to get Søren a Christmas present this year and resolves to find out what he might like. In the meantime, there’s an interesting-looking book about architecture in the bookstore window that he traipses inside to buy. He can gift that to either Feliks or Torbjörn, depending on who he can find another good present for.

“Eduard!” Tuomi _bellows_ across the square as soon as he sets one foot on its cobblestones. Eduard waves, walking over there with caution. He doesn’t want to fall again.

The annual Christmas market is in the process of being set up, the square riddled with half-built wooden huts and stands arranged around the tall Christmas tree that has been there for a week or so already. At the other end, in front of the old palace that’s now a history museum, Søren’s company is setting up the stage for the events planned leading up to Christmas. Those start this weekend, as far as Eduard knows. The majority of the stage is up, but the roof is as of now just a collection of beams, and none of it looks as festive as the rest of the city yet.

He stands at the edge of the hubbub and waits until Tuomi has time for coffee.

Instead of Tuomi, it is in fact Søren who makes his way over after a few minutes, grinning brightly and looking a little red in the face. He pulls his gloves off to rearrange his wild hair.

“Hey, Eduard.”

“Hi,” Eduard replies. “Hard at work?”

“What?” Søren leans closer to him. “Lotsa noise here.”

“Right, sorry! You all look busy here,” Eduard repeats, enunciating clearly.

“Yes!” Søren smiles proudly. “Pretty big job, this one. We did the practical things with getting the actual events set up for the organization as well.” He glances over his shoulder. “Between you and me, okay, Tuomi sent me over here to tell you he can’t come like I’m not his boss and know exactly how much work he’s got to do.”

Eduard aims a flat look into the middle distance before rolling his eyes at Søren.

“Now what?” he asks.

“Well, it probably plays into his cards to tell you I got some free time, but,” Søren shrugs, “I don’t care. Wanna get a coffee?”

Eduard blinks at Søren. Is he aware… Tuomi said he wouldn’t set them up! Again, he thinks, he’s _not_ a desperate teenager, and it’s probably fine if Søren’s aware, right? They’re grown men. They know how to communicate.

“Sure. You’re much better company than Tuomi anyway,” he just says, and Søren laughs, clasping his shoulder to steer him away from the noisy stage-under-construction.

“Good coffee or bad coffee?” he asks, leaning so close that Eduard can feel his breath on the side of his face. Turning to look at him, he raises his eyebrows, questioning. Up closer, there seem to be ever more freckles on Søren’s face, every time he looks.

“Good?” Søren guesses, touching his fingertips to his chin.

“Preferably, yes.”

“Just asking ‘cause Tuomi prefers bad coffee.”

Eduard laughs. That checks out.

“Well, that just proves I got all the taste in the family,” he jokes.

“Hey, same!” Søren bumps their shoulders together.

He leads them away from the square and to a bustling little bakery-annex-café that Eduard vaguely recalls having bought ice cream at some summers ago. Søren purses his lips when he sees through the windows that there’s a good amount of people inside, then shrugs and goes to open the door.

Eduard touches his shoulder with his gloved fingers, and he turns back, surprised.

“Yeah? I promise it’s good coffee. Tuomi would hate it.”

“I…” Eduard pauses. He doesn’t want to overstep these new boundaries with Søren, but he can also hear jingly Christmas music drifting outside from the bakery—along with the warm smell of cinnamon—and thinks he could do something. “What do you want? It’s—my treat.”

Søren narrows his eyes slightly. Eduard shifts his weight.

“Okay,” Søren says. “Sounds good. Just a cappuccino for me, then.”

Eduard nods and turns to the door to open it. It is busy inside, and Søren stands next to him in the short line, rocking back on the heels of his steel-nosed boots and looking at the beautiful pastries on display. Little petit fours in gold paper containers, mille-feuilles with little chocolate holly leaves on top, and Black Forest cake decorated with cherries arranged in a star shape. The music isn’t very loud, but it is quite jangly, and the buzz of conversation is all around, permeating the air as much as the smell of fresh dough and winter spices.

 _Just coffee_ , Eduard thinks, but then, that was when it was going to be Tuomi. He orders a cinnamon roll. Søren chuckles, again leaning closer to him.

“Couldn’t resist, huh?”

“It smells nice,” Eduard defends himself, but has to smile at the man’s grin and the way he holds his hands up innocently.

They take their coffees back outside and lean against the nearby wall of a quiet church to drink them.

Well, Søren leans. Eduard doesn’t want his coat to get damp or mossy like the centuries-old stones and just stands. He hands Søren his coffee for a moment to tear the warm cinnamon roll in half and swaps it back with him.

“Thanks!”

Eduard nods. Søren looks at him over the lid of his cappuccino, blue eyes searching.

“Y’know, I’ve been dealing with the whole _not hearing everything_ for 39 years,” he says after a moment.

“I know,” Eduard replies, and he wants to apologize, a bit, but Søren doesn’t seem upset, so he doesn’t. Yet.

“I appreciate it, though, don’t get me wrong, you helping out.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. “I ain’t too proud anymore to admit it’s nice not having to deal with it sometimes. Also, free coffee.”

At this, he winks at Eduard, who smiles into his own coffee and makes his glasses fog up.

“I guess, as long as people make it clear beforehand?” Søren continues, gesturing with the cinnamon roll. “I appreciate all the help I can get. Einar did this thing sometimes, where he just started talking for me, y’know, and he meant well, but it was annoying. I can _talk_ , I just can’t hear.”

“Good to know,” Eduard says.

“I’m getting you coffee next time, though— _wow_ , this is nice,” he interrupts himself when he takes a bite of his pastry. “Can we put this on a pizza?”

This time, Eduard can’t quite hold in the lecture about pizza dough and pastry dough, but Søren seems interested and amused—mostly amused—so that’s okay.

By the time they return to the city square, Eduard’s gotten to explaining about his sourdough starter and how he needs to feed it. Tuomi comes up to them and immediately and exaggeratedly rolls his eyes.

“ _Wild yeast_ ,” he mutters. Eduard makes a rude gesture at him, and Søren laughs. He touches Eduard’s back, tapping his fingers along his shoulder blade. It sends shivers up his spine.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says when Eduard turns to him.

“Of course.”

Tuomi whistles conspicuously while he walks away again, stopping close by. He’s probably still within hearing range, the gossip.

Some of Søren’s other employees are now carrying around decorations, apparently helping the Christmas market proprietors out for the moment. One woman sets down a box right next to them, and Søren takes a step to the side to peer into it curiously. He grins.

“Look at that!” He scoops something out of the box that Eduard can’t place for a moment. “Mistletoe!”

Oh. It looks strange just… There, not hanging. Søren winks and starts to raise the little plant jokingly, but Eduard snatches it out of his hand. He looks down at the mistletoe while Søren chuckles. A burst of Christmas music blasts across the square, and someone shouts that the speakers work.

“Hey, do you think they’d mind if I take this?” Eduard asks. The box is full of the stuff.

“I don’t expect so, if it’s just that one. You planning on kissing someone?” Søren says. Eduard looks up at him and has to look away again at the teasing expression on his face.

“Not me, no.” He adjusts his glasses, somehow fogging them up again by breathing against his own arm. “I have a _very_ juvenile idea.”

“I love those!” Søren enthuses. “Let me know if you change—if it works. The idea.”

Eduard nods. “I will. I should go. You probably have a lot of work to do as well.”

“Lots, yeah. Hey, see you Sunday, right?” And, after Eduard assures him that he will, “We should check out the market when it’s going for real, later, yeah? You’re gonna have to shout at me a lot, but it’d be fun.”

“I would like that.” He turns to Tuomi, who’s grinning and not even trying to hide that he’s listening to them. “ _Bye_ , Tuomi.”

Tuomi waves jauntily. Søren laughs, and Eduard goes back to the bus stop.

He arrives at the studio relatively early, and Nadzeya narrows her eyes suspiciously at him when he pulls the sprig of mistletoe out of his bag. With the blandest smile he can muster aimed at her because he knows it will wind her up, he sets about standing on a chair to hang the little plant from the drop ceiling in the corner of the room.

Both Nadzeya and Dragos are staring at him when he gets down.

“I’m not coming over there,” Nadzeya tells him, which is as expected. Dragos shrugs when they both look at him expectantly.

“I would.” But he stays where he is.

Vinh doesn’t notice the mistletoe when she comes in, mostly because she stands directly underneath it with her equipment and her focus is much too sharp. Nadzeya shakes her head at Eduard.

“I thought you were gay,” she says drily, before she leaves.

“You know I’m not.” He still hasn’t found a label for his sexuality, but he’s fine with that at this point. “It’s not for me.”

“Well, it’s your funeral.” She leaves without another word.

Hopefully, she’s wrong, but, like he told Søren, Eduard knows the idea is extremely juvenile and Vinh might just hate him for even trying. It’s still worth a shot. Sometimes, you do need to act like a desperate teenager.

Like often on Fridays, the show is a bit chaotic. Eduard calls a local TV presenter who’s gone viral after making a mistake on a live broadcast, and the man is _not_ in a good mood. Eduard feels like he might end up becoming a meme himself, the way that interview goes. It’s all part of the job, he supposes.

Kveta gets there early as well, as she often does, and goes to talk to Vinh, as she also often does. She doesn’t notice the mistletoe either like Eduard had hoped she would. He keeps glancing over at them almost nervously. It feels a little _too_ juvenile all of a sudden, and less funny now that Søren isn’t around.

He plays _Last Christmas_. Kveta laughs at something Vinh says, low and melodious and biting her dark orange lower lip, and Vinh leans towards her, winding her own hair around her fingers.

Taking a deep breath, Eduard clears his throat. Both women look at him, and he flicks his gaze up. They both follow it. Vinh immediately glares at him, tan cheeks flushing. Kveta also takes a deep breath, pressing her lips together.

“ _Eduard_ ,” Vinh hisses, but Kveta’s talking over her.

“It _is_ tradition,” she says. “I mean, you know…”

Vinh stops glaring at Eduard to stare at Kveta, expression mostly confused, her dark eyebrows twitching.

“Not that I’m really one for tradition,” Kveta’s now saying. “You know that—”

“Kveta,” Vinh interrupts. Eduard looks at his laptop screen.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I get this damn nervous around… Around you.” Kveta huffs a laugh.

He looks back because he’s just too curious. Vinh’s uncharacteristically wide-eyed, and Kveta is blushing something fierce, running her hand through her short hair.

“It’s fine,” Vinh tells her softly.

“No, I mean, you’re— We could…” She looks up at the mistletoe, stares back down at Vinh, and swallows, swaying towards her. “We could.”

Vinh surges forward and kisses her.

Eduard turns back to his screen, smiling at the muffled noise of surprise that Kveta makes before quickly putting his headphones back on.

“Remember to send in your local charity for Kind Ice Week,” he reminds his listeners. “We will be picking who we will feature this weekend, but all organizations will be put on the Radio 8 website for everyone to see.”

After starting a song, he glances at Vinh’s spot from the corner of his eye. She glares at him again as if she can sense his gaze, looking away from her close conversation with Kveta.

“You’ve got some lipstick,” he tells her, gesturing at his own face. Kveta _giggles_.

“I know that was you, asshole,” Vinh says. She runs her thumb along her lips. He shrugs.

At the end of the show, Vinh tells him she’s going to stay at the studio for a while, and Kveta comes over to him, her lipstick still quite smudged as well. On her, it somehow manages to look intentional, like just another fashion thing he doesn’t understand. Eduard adjusts his sweater.

“You’re a weirdo,” she tells him, but she’s smiling lopsidedly, grey eyes bright.

“Hey, I didn’t do it for me.”

She snorts a laugh, shoulders jumping, and rises on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Weirdo.”

Vinh looks at him.

“You’ve got some lipstick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Christmas markets this year :(
> 
> I'm late with this one but don't worry, we'll catch up in a bit! I forgot I hadn't typed all of this chapter yet :V
> 
> Fun fact: I don't like using the word coffeeshop bc that's what we call a place where you can buy weed here, and it feels weird even if I know that isn't what it means in English.


	12. XII. cider

“One, two, three…” Eduard counts his twelve apples, sighs, and starts cutting them into little pieces.

He has decided to, apart from the bread, make some cider to take to Tuomi’s tomorrow. It’s seasonally appropriate, and not that hard to make. Apart from all those apples. He’s already peeled them all, which felt like a bit of a waste as always, and now has to dice them.

When he’s on the tenth one, the Blackmore’s Night album he’s listening to over Bluetooth gets interrupted by a phone call. With sticky fingers, he answers it, putting it on speaker and continuing to cut his apples.

“Hello, Tolys.”

“Eduard, Stefan called me.”

He cuts his thumb.

“Shit, _fuck_. _What_?”

“Are you—” Tolys starts.

“I cut my hand. Don’t worry about that.” Eduard runs water over his hand to get the apple juice off while looking for a bandage in the kitchen drawers. “ _Stefan_ called?”

“He did.” Tolys pauses for a moment. “My phone number hasn’t changed since then, and yours has.”

Drying his bleeding thumb with a tissue and sticking a bandage on, Eduard makes a vague affirmative noise. He did do a complete overhaul after the band broke up.

“Ed, I think it would be a good idea to talk to him,” Tolys says, and if Eduard had still been holding a knife, he would have cut himself again, and possibly much deeper this time.

“ _What_?” he blurts. “You can’t be serious.”

“He wants to, and he sounds… Better. At the very least, he’d stop trying to contact you.”

“Tolys—he’s mad if he thinks stalking my place of work or my friends is going to make me change my mind about him.”

“Well, he’s definitely going about it the wrong way,” he acquiesces. Eduard looks sadly at his bloody tenth apple. It will probably be fine if he doesn’t use the bloody part. “Ed?”

“He’s going about it terribly and I don’t want to talk about it, Tolys. I’m sorry.”

Voice soft, Tolys says, “Eduard, It’s the only way he can think of, short of turning up at your work and following you home.”

“Don’t—say things like that, please.” He gets apple juice on his glasses when he pushes them up. At least it’s not blood.

“You made yourself very hard to find after everything.”

“I have social media!” He does never check the comments, this is true, and something that Tolys knows. It’s entirely possible that Stefan tried to contact him on Twitter or Instagram beforehand, like a normal person, and he just didn’t see it. He’s certainly not going to check now. Tolys just sighs.

“Just think about it, please.”

Eduard will not.

“Do you want some cider?” he asks to change the subject, and immediately feels like an idiot. “I mean, does Feliks want some cider? I’m making a lot.”

“I’ll ask,” Tolys says, sounding tired. “Just…”

“I’m not talking to him, Tolys.”

“Okay. Well… Good afternoon.”

“Bye, Tolys.” He feels a little bad about it, but Tolys will surely understand. He’s an understanding man.

“God damn it, Borisov,” he mutters, and decides to switch to listening to Sabaton instead.

The cider is going in the slowcooker, and Eduard looks after it for a moment to make sure it’s looking alright. The speakers blare something about some war or another, and he realizes he’s already sick of Sabaton again. Time to just listen to the radio, then. Ajuma is on.

Does Stefan have anyone else’s phone number? Nadzeya is the only person who Eduard still talks to, and he’s pretty sure she did a complete 180 as well in the last five years or so. As for Tuomi… Chances are he would just start cursing at Stefan if he called, so Eduard isn’t at all concerned about that possibility. That leaves just Erzsébet, really, and he knows she has changed her phone number, because a confused, unknown man started answering texts and calls a few years ago. Everyone tried to contact her every once in a while up until that point, but the number had evidently been passed to someone else.

And even if that hadn’t been the case, it’s not like she would come back just for that.

 _Sorry for being rude_ , Eduard texts Tolys a little later in the afternoon, because he’s started to feel quite bad about it. It’s not like Tolys can’t handle it, because Tolys is mentally the strongest person Eduard knows, but he’s always so understanding about everything that it feels awful.

 _It’s okay! I know I surprised you_.

The message, when it appears after a few minutes, distracts Eduard from contemplating whether to outbid the offer someone made on the old computer. It’s not like he needs it, though, so it’s probably for the best. He’s also thinking about Christmas presents again, and now wonders what he should get Tolys. He’s notoriously hard to get gifts for, which just means that Eduard usually ends up with something ridiculous and a promise to go to a museum or play with him at some point.

Maybe Søren likes museums. He could ask Torbjörn what his brother might enjoy getting. Or Søren himself, of course.

 _Feliks says he would like some cider_ , Tolys texts while he’s preparing dinner, quite early because there’s a meeting about Kind Ice Week later in the evening.

_Will do!_

The cider’s still cooking nicely, and will continue to do so until tomorrow morning. The bread, he will make then. He gets up early enough most mornings.

After dinner, it’s time for the meeting, which most of his colleagues, like Eduard, are attending over video chat. They all blink online one by one in a variety of studies and living rooms, centered around the video from the conference room where the rest of them are. Iryna herself is presiding over the meeting this time, although Ajuma is sat in the conference room behind her. Someone’s children yell through the microphone until they’re shushed.

“Hello, good evening,” Iryna starts. “Welcome to this meeting about Kind Ice Week, as we’ve taken to calling it, thanks to Eduard.”

He waves into his laptop camera, and some people chuckle. His Christmas tree is just visible in the corner of his little screen, shining its warm light through his blond hair and turning his blue sweater a little greenish in color. He’s aware the computer screen is reflecting in his glasses, but everyone will have to deal.

“Can everyone hear me alright?” Iryna asks. “Good. The online team is working on a webpage for the event as we speak, and we’ve made arrangements with eight organizations where we can help out next week!” She spreads her hands. “David, you’ll be pleased to know that your mother’s animal sanctuary is one of them.”

“Ace!” the man says. He’s wearing a Santa hat and is sat in front of a photograph of a sunny beach. Behind Iryna in the conference room, Ajuma shakes her head. Angélique, meanwhile, holds her thumbs up on her own screen.

“I’m sending a list now,” Iryna says, fiddling with her phone.

Simultaneously with her message, Eduard receives a private one from David.

_ur coming right??_

He looks at Kveta’s little screen, guiltily, and does a double take. He may only have been there once, but he recognizes Vinh’s apartment in the background of the call; he helped her hang that painting of a rainforest because he was close by at the time and ‘taller than anyone else she knows’. Alright, those two evidently spend enough time together outside of work, then.

 _Sure!_ he sends David, and of course, he gets a message from Kveta at that moment.

_that restaurant looks very interesting, how do you feel abt that?_

Great, now he feels bad.

“I _see_ everyone is busy,” Ajuma says, quite forcefully, and Eduard, along with a majority of the people in the call, looks sheepish. “We’ve got a list of everyone who’s going to make a report as well, and we’re putting a form in the group chat so you all can sign up for the different organizations. As long as no one has to go alone.”

Eduard hears a lot of clicking. It really _is_ like they’re all in high school. Iryna laughs.

“I’m just happy everyone’s enthusiastic,” she tells Ajuma.

“I suppose.” She pushes a tiny braid away from her eyes and addresses the call. “There are dates on the form—”

 _youre a traitor :(_ , Kveta sends Eduard.

_David asked first!_

“Ah, I see the list is already complete.” Ajuma sounds a little exasperated.

David must have put his name in, then. Eduard checks. He has, indeed for the animal sanctuary. Kveta is slated to go to the restaurant, where they offer free food to those in need three days of the week.

 _vinh is v disappointed in you_ , Kveta tells him.

He muffles a laugh into his hand, and sees her shake her head on-screen. It’s entirely possible that the very sensible green shirt she’s wearing is also Vinh’s, he thinks, and mentally congratulates himself on his ridiculous mistletoe idea. Søren must be proud of him.

“That leaves us with some open time slots,” Ajuma is now saying, studying her own laptop. “But enough people have volunteered to take those that I don’t think we need to worry about it at all. In other news, we’re trying to get in contact with the Christmas market organization to see if we can hold a closing ceremony of sorts there on either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. They have a stage all set up.”

“And it only has to be a small show,” Iryna adds.

“Can we stream it to the website?” asks Simão, behind her in the conference room. He’s early there; he does the show after midnight on the weekends.

“Excellent idea!” Ajuma agrees.

“I might—” Eduard starts, and pauses when a child yells something again. Shouldn’t children be in bed by now?

“Eduard,” Iryna says, like a teacher. He smiles.

“I _might_ be able to help get us in contact with the Christmas market. My—” He falters, and eventually goes with, “My brother-in-law helped set it all up.”

Kveta makes a disbelieving face at her computer screen as if saying, _you don’t have siblings_ , and Nadzeya actually snorts. Eduard is unsurprised to see that her wall is painted completely black. Or maybe it’s navy. Luckily, neither Iryna nor Ajuma notices those reactions, and both of them react with enthusiasm.

 _if that mans your brother in law then vinh’s my cousin_ , Kveta sends to him, and he really doesn’t know how to react to that one. Her mind makes weird leaps of logic sometimes.

“Alright, that’s good news. Well, we start on Monday with Nadzeya and Mei going to the history museum to help out.”

Eduard wonders if Dragos can carry the show alone, but he’ll probably do fine if it’s just for one day. He doesn’t know the man well at all, but Dragos seems quick-witted enough to make up for Nadzeya’s absence. Has to be, really, to keep up with her. It’s a wonder they’ve put up with each other for so long.

There’s some more talk of logistics, about making sure everyone gets their portable equipment and maybe doing some live location reporting as a sort of teaser, which Mei at least seems excited about. It’ll be interesting to hear how she works with Nadzeya.

“Good! That’s all for today,” Iryna says. “The chat’s always open, as you know, and there’s always _someone_ awake even if it isn’t going to be me most of the time.”

Simão waves in the background.

“Let’s make it a great week.”

After awkwardly waving goodbye, everyone starts disconnecting one by one, little screens turning dark.

“You’re a weirdo, Eduard,” Kveta says before she leaves, giving him no time to answer and baffling the other people still in the call, except for Nadzeya, who just barks a laugh.

“I like her.” And she’s gone. Eduard quickly disconnects as well.

He puts his laptop down next to himself on the wide arm of the couch, closing the lid. Tonight, he’s just going to watch a movie, with the smell of apples slowly permeating every crevice of his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also featuring:  
> Simão - Portugal  
> Mei - Taiwan
> 
> I also didn't intend for so many of the minor characters to be women, but it happened, and I'm definitely not complaining! I love all the female characters :)


	13. XIII. stockings

Kneading dough is relaxing, always has been to Eduard. He puts his shoulders into it for a bit, before he deposits the dough into its tray and pushes it gently into the oven. He whistles, turning to the stove, because while that’s going, he can finish the cider.

Having done this enough times before, it’s the work of a few minutes to get all the apple pulp and spices out and finish the whole thing, pouring it into several thermos containers so it stays at least somewhat warm until lunch. If needed, it can be heated again. Eduard keeps one thermos apart for Feliks. He puts a little sticker on it with his own name on, because Feliks tends to forget to give back things that he borrowed. His mind is just too busy all the time.

After cleaning the kitchen, putting all the utensils back in their carefully assigned spaces and making sure that the flour isn’t going to fall over in the pantry like it did one time, Eduard lets Feliks know that he’ll stop by in about an hour, on his way to Tuomi’s. It’s snowing gently today, stretches of blue sky visible between the low clouds, but the roads should be fine to drive on.

The sourdough is done soon after, and smelling delicious. Eduard pats it on the crust, satisfied.

“Very nice,” he mumbles, even as he burns his fingertips a little. It’s definitely not the first time; he’s never going to learn.

He loads everything into his car and drives the short distance to Tolys and Feliks’s place first. Tolys tries to invite him in for coffee, but Eduard manages to remind him he’s going to lunch with his family eventually. Feliks, whose fine blond hair is all piled on top of his head in a haphazard little bun, stops him before he goes to leave.

“Such a neat man,” he says, brushing off Eduard’s shoulders with fluttering hands, “and there’s flour all over you.”

Eduard resignedly waits until he’s done being dusted off. Feliks straightens his sweater for good measure, critically eyeing the green-blue Nordic pattern and opening a button of the shirt underneath it.

“Feliks,” Tolys says from the end of the hallway, covering his mouth and obviously trying not to laugh.

“I’m just helping,” Feliks replies, but he stops adjusting Eduard’s outfit. Honestly, Eduard feels a little honored that he’s someone that Feliks is comfortable enough with to touch so easily, even if it gets awkward sometimes.

“Thank you. Enjoy your cider.”

Feliks grins. “Enjoy lunch!”

Tolys looks like he wants to say something but changes his mind before he does and just holds a hand up at Eduard. Feliks closes the door behind him.

The drive to Tuomi and Torbjörn’s house is a little longer and takes Eduard out of the city proper, to where it’s nestled at the foot of a snowy hill, a single spot of red among the white, lit by one of the sunbeams poking through the clouds and the many, _many_ lights strung over the snowy trees in the yard and along the windows and roof. It has mostly stopped snowing, and Eduard is, in fact, practically bowled over by Peter when he walks up to the house. The boy is carrying a wooden sleigh and barely breaks his stride.

“Sorry!” he yells, running up the hill. “Hi, Uncle Eduard. Gonna sleigh!”

“Be careful!” Eduard shouts after him, quite uselessly.

The kitchen door is foggy around the edges of the little window, and warmth envelops Eduard when he opens it and steps inside. Something smells delicious in here, a little garlicky and very inviting. Torbjörn is stood at the stove, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon. He turns to Eduard, and swaps his bag for a tissue that he uses to wipe the fog off his glasses.

“Morning.”

“Good morning, Torbjörn. Thanks.” Eduard gestures at the bag. “I brought bread, and cider. It’s still warm.”

The tall man smiles gently. Torbjörn has faint freckles, nothing like his brother, and his hair is turning decidedly more salt-and-pepper every time Eduard sees him. His own glasses are a little fogged around the edges, probably from the steam of the pot.

“What are you making?” Eduard asks, taking his coat off while Torbjörn carefully puts the thermoses of cider on the counter and hums appreciatively at the sourdough bread.

“Some soup. Here.” He takes Eduard’s coat and leaves the kitchen to hang it. Eduard inspects the soup, which seems to be a light vegetable one and is coming along nicely. Tuomi is very lucky that his husband is a good cook. The large kitchen table is already set for—he counts—ten people, the seats close together and made up of a variety of chairs.

When Torbjörn returns, Lars is trailing after him, phone in hand. He glances up at Eduard.

“Hello,” he says. Eduard smiles at him before addressing Torbjörn again.

“Can I lend a hand?”

“Hm.” He shakes his head. “Lars, put that away.”

“ _Fine_.” Lars puts his phone in his pocket and crosses his arms. Eduard shoots Torbjörn what he hopes is a sympathetic look and walks further into the house. He puts his shoes next to the radiator in the hall and follows the sound of Søren’s loud voice to the living room.

“Eduard!” the man exclaims, as if he’s surprised he actually showed up. Tuomi snickers, holding a hand up in greeting while Søren gets up and clasps both of his shoulders. “Good to see you again!”

Eduard can only wave at the other people in the room—his aunt Riikka, Tuomi’s mother, and uncle Daniel, Erzsébet’s father.

Søren is wearing a sweater for a change, a red one that clashes terribly with the light, airy colors of the living room, but then, so do the Christmas decorations. Torbjörn puts up with it, the last two months of the year. The Christmas tree, proudly in the middle of the room, is done up in red and silver, with tiny multicolored lights on what seems like every other pine needle. There are holly leaves on the photo frames arranged on top of the dresser, and garlands and five stockings on the mantle of the old fireplace, under which now Kukkamuna is peacefully lying on her dog bed, chewing on a toy. One of the stockings is for her.

“How’d your mistletoe plan go?” Søren asks, looking genuinely curious. Behind him, Eduard’s family just resumes the conversation they were having before he arrived.

“It went well.” He huffs a laugh. “Quite well.”

Now, Søren steers him the couch and practically pushes him down, not that Eduard needed pushing. He always sits here. Søren probably knows that, right? At least subconsciously, maybe.

His aunt raises her pale eyebrows at him, looking amused, and Eduard shrugs one shoulder.

Lars pokes his head around the door to the living room.

“Uncle Eduard, pa wants to know what you want to drink.”

“I’m fine, Lars, thank you.”

Grumbling, he retreats. Torbjörn will probably send him back with a glass of water for Eduard anyway. He’s a sweetheart, is Torbjörn, as Aunt Riikka would say. She and Erzsébet both liked to joke that Tuomi was going to walk all over the poor man, but they seem to have found a balance. There’s definitely different sides to Torbjörn as well, Eduard knows. He’s just a very good husband and father.

Sure enough, Lars returns after a minute with water for Eduard and flops down into the chair next to his grandmother.

“He didn’t want anything!” Tuomi shouts in the direction of the kitchen door. Torbjörn wisely doesn’t reply.

While Tuomi’s mother attempts to engage Lars in a conversation about how school is going and Tuomi and Uncle Daniel apparently resume an earlier talk about _fishing_ , of all things, Søren leans closer to Eduard.

“You never told me what the mistletoe was for,” he says. “Or _who_.”

“My, ah…” Eduard shifts on the soft, white couch to face him, which makes Søren grin. “My production assistant, Vinh.”

“ _And_ …” Søren prompts. “Not you, you said, but whoever they are, they’re lucky. She was beautiful.”

“She is,” Eduard confirms, chuckling. Vinh has no shortage of admirers. “Remember the woman you talked to at the end of the show? My colleague, Kveta.”

“Right! She was wearing that thing with the cutouts. So, _those_ two.”

He nods, absently trying to remember what Kveta was wearing when Søren met her, but all her strange outfits just kind of blur together in his mind.

“Nice! Christmas miracle, huh?” Søren bumps his fist against Eduard’s shoulder, and it is impossible not to return his grin when he seems so genuinely pleased for two women he’s met once. That’s a kind of generosity that’s rare. Eduard is reminded of what the pine tree farmer, Matthew, said about Søren being understanding when he was practically _traded_ _in_ for someone else, and feels like that makes sense.

It’d be concerning, maybe, on its own. Make him think that Søren doesn’t think highly enough of himself, but it’s just… Generosity. And isn’t _that_ a weird thing to be a little jealous about not having?

“I wanted to ask something about the Christmas market, actually, before I forget,” Eduard says. “Uh, professionally.”

“Okay, okay, interesting.” Søren leans even closer to him when Lars finally replies to his grandmother in low, bored tones. If Eduard glances outside, he can see Peter trudging back up the hill with his sleigh, windswept.

He explains to Søren about Kind Ice Week, and how Ajuma is having trouble getting in contact with the Christmas market organization, and Søren is already writing down phone numbers before he’s even finished talking, on the back of a receipt he pulls out of the pocket of his jeans. He grabs Eduard’s hand and presses the paper into it, fingers brushing the inside of his wrist.

“Thank—thank you,” Eduard stutters. He puts the paper in his own pocket, shifting again on the couch.

“No problem! Always happy to help.”

Outside, Peter sleds down the hill at breakneck speed again. Eduard sees Tuomi glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he seems confident that his son is doing alright. Peter doesn’t go back up the hill this time, and instead appears in the door to the kitchen a few seconds later, his coat half off and his face red.

“Hey!” he shouts, far too loudly, probably to get Søren’s attention. “Pa says lunch is ready.” He signs part of the sentence as he says it.

“Your grandparents aren’t here yet,” Tuomi says, referring to Torbjörn’s parents.

“I saw them coming when I was on the hill, they’ll be here in no time, dad.” Peter shuffles away, flinging his shoes against the wall when he kicks them off.

“Pete!” Tuomi says, exasperated.

“My bad!” He’s already halfway up the stairs, presumably to change clothes. Tuomi shakes his head. Lars glares at his phone. Søren just shares a somehow conspiratorial look with Eduard, who ducks his head to hide his grin from Tuomi.

Everyone relocates to the kitchen, where Torbjörn’s parents indeed arrive minutes later on a gust of cold air and melting snowflakes. Both of them tell Lars he’s grown, which is true but seems to amuse Tuomi. There’s some shuffling around the kitchen table as they greet everyone, Søren and Torbjörn both stooping to hug their mother, who ruffles their hair as if they’re her grandkids’ age. Søren is her spitting image, although he got the height from his father, like Torbjörn.

Eduard ends up sitting next to Uncle Daniel, already apologizing for elbowing him before they even start eating, and Søren wriggles his way into the folding chair on his other side. The top of his head is nearly level with Eduard’s nose with how low it is, and he grimaces.

“Torbjörn!” he yells at his brother, who takes one look at him and quirks an amused smile. Søren signs something at him, but Torbjörn’s already walking to the living room. He returns seconds later with some pillows, reaching across the table to give them to Søren so he can boost himself.

Søren leans his hand on Eduard’s shoulder while he puts the pillows down.

“That’s better,” he mutters, now at a normal height. His mother takes the seat next to him. “Mom, do you want a pillow?”

She gives him a very unimpressed, very Torbjörn-esque look over the top of her glasses that makes him laugh.

“Just asking.”

Aunt Riikka and Peter help Torbjörn put everything on the table. There’s soup, and another kind of bread apart from Eduard’s sourdough, and a plate of delicious-looking little pastries divided into sweet and savory sections. Tuomi gets passed a roast ham and puts some mushroom ragout across the table from himself, and looks absolutely delighted at the thermoses of cider. Søren’s mother gets up again to get something out of her bag and returns with a small bottle of coffee liqueur and a _whole apple pie_ she apparently forgot about.

Torbjörn puts the apple pie on the kitchen counter for the moment, looking faintly impressed with it.

Tuomi hefts a thermos of cider, which Eduard hopes he’s not planning on drinking by himself, and wishes everyone a happy December, and a nice lunch.

At Eduard’s side, Søren drags a finger quickly along the side of his own cheek and then rubs his hands together, like he did when he wanted to express that he was joking, Eduard thinks. Or it might just be similar, he isn’t sure. His brother and nephews echo the sign, and as everyone starts reaching across the table and asking for various food items, Søren leans very close to Eduard, looking at him out of the corner of his eye and smiling lopsidedly.

“ _Enjoy_ ,” he says, voice low, and Eduard _knows_ he’s just explaining the sign, but he shivers, all the same.

And promptly knocks his elbow into Uncle Daniel’s.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He needs to start remembering to sit next to Torbjörn, who’s also left-handed, so they won’t knock into each other all the time. In fact, he shares a commiserating look with the man across the table, before he decides to sample his own sourdough.

Søren is occupied talking to his mother, largely in sign language, which is fair because there’s quite a ruckus at the table, especially when Peter and Lars get into an argument that keeps escalating and then lowering in volume, so Eduard turns to his uncle for company instead.

Erzsébet got her mother’s looks—all three of them did, which ended up meaning that she was the only one with dark hair and an actual tan to her skin, because Uncle Daniel is the spitting image of his sisters, tall and pale, with blond hair and light eyes. Eduard probably looks more like him than Erzsébet ever could.

He seems to be doing alright, and is apparently enjoying his retirement, hence the talk about fishing earlier. Because Eduard keeps elbowing him, he eventually shifts his own chair away a little, closer to Søren, who looks at him and grins, winking.

When it has gotten a little quieter, Søren leans close to him again to ask if it’s true that he made the cider.

“I did,” Eduard confirms, taking a warm sip of it. He leans back in his chair, having eaten his fill.

“It’s great.”

When Eduard turns, he goes cross-eyed trying to meet Søren’s gaze. The man chuckles, drawing his head back a little. He smells like _outside_ , underneath the hair gel, at least. It’s pleasant.

“Thank you,” Eduard says.

Tuomi is giggling when he turns back to the table, and somehow Eduard can tell it’s at his expense. He narrows his eyes at his cousin, but Tuomi just waves it away.

At the head of the table, Peter is getting restless, and he shoots up from his seat as soon as his parents tell him he can, stacking his and his brother’s plates and taking them to the sink before running upstairs again and thundering back down with his coat and snow pants back on.

“I’m gonna—hey, Uncle Søren, wanna come?” he interrupts himself. He gestures outside, blue eyes radiant underneath those dark eyebrows of his.

“Sure, Peter, in a bit,” Søren replies, stretching his arms over his head before resting them on the backs of Eduard’s and his mother’s chairs.

“’Kay!” He sprints outside, letting in a gust of chilly air. Lars frowns after him.

For another minute, Søren stays seated, his fingers tapping a rhythm into Eduard’s shoulder, but then he gets up to grab his coat and follow his nephew into the snow. Eduard helps Torbjörn and Tuomi put away the dishes, while Lars shows his grandparents something on his phone. The boy comes up to the three of them afterwards.

“Uncle Eduard?”

“Hm?”

He sighs, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna go out too?” A small smirk blooms on his freckled face. “We could race Pete!”

Eduard glances back at Tuomi and Torbjörn, and Tuomi makes a gesture as if to say ‘go ahead’.

“I’d like to race!” says Søren’s father. Aunt Riikka makes an agreeing noise, and Tuomi grins. Lars looks a little chagrined now, like that wasn’t his plan, but he doesn’t protest when everyone goes to put their shoes and coats back on either.

Outside, where it is now fully sunny, the snowy hill reflecting the light almost painfully, Peter _whoops_ on his way down when he sees them all exit the house. He waves from his sleigh.

“Careful!” Torbjörn warns him.

“I’m always careful, pa!” he shouts. Søren, who is standing at the foot of the hill, signs something at Torbjörn that makes the man frown, then grins and claps him on the back.

“Mom!” he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulders while Erzsébet’s father follows Lars and Tuomi to the shed at the edge of the yard, presumably to get another sleigh. “Care for a—”

“Absolutely not,” she interrupts, which Søren seems to have expected, because he just grins and lets her go to flounce over to Eduard. Peter is already dragging the sleigh back up the hill, Lars following him this time.

Eduard looks down at Søren, raising his eyebrows and trying to suppress his amused smile. There is a flush on Søren’s cheeks, and the tip of his nose is red with the winter chill in the air. He drapes his arm over Eduard’s shoulders but still gestures with the other one. He isn’t wearing gloves.

“And how about you, Eduard?” he asks. “Care for a race?”

“I feel like I have to,” Eduard replies.

“I wouldn’t say you _have to_.” Søren grins at him, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go. “But I’m sure Lars would appreciate someone in his corner.”

While he follows Søren and his cousins up the hill, Eduard catches Torbjörn’s gaze. The man crosses his arms and shakes his head, light eyes amused behind his glasses, in a way that actually makes him look quite similar to Søren for a moment. In return, Eduard can only shrug, not entirely sure what the look is about.

Well, he’s fairly sure, but that’s not sure enough. Not even to think it.

He and Søren push the boys down the hill, and Peter wins the race three times, aided by Søren, until Eduard puts so much force behind pushing Lars that he falls face-down in the snow when he lets go of the sleigh.

Søren is laughing so hard he barely manages to help him up, but he does, tugging at Eduard’s hand and upper arm to get him back to his feet.

Lars cheers at the foot of the hill.

Still holding his upper arm, Søren brushes snow off Eduard’s coat. Eduard takes his glasses off to clean them as best he can and shakes snow out of his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. When he puts his glasses back on, he catches a look from Søren that he can’t quite interpret, something curious and open, but the man quickly grins again.

“Was it worth it?” he asks.

“I won, didn’t I?”

“ _Lars_ won.” Eyes bright, Søren grasps both of his shoulders. “We should—”

A snowball crashes into his arm and sprinkles snow on the side of his face. He blinks, gaze not leaving Eduard’s, to giggles from below. Another snowball sails right past the both of them.

“We should do something about that,” Søren says, and charges down the hill.

What ensues is chaotic enough that Eduard can’t make heads or tails of it after a minute. He’s pretty sure Uncle Daniel and Søren’s father are on their side, but everyone else is a wildcard, except Lars, who has teamed up with both of his grandmothers. The newly fallen snow gets disturbed across the whole backyard, lobbed across the hill and over the hedges. Søren’s father makes a shelter behind the shed that gets overtaken by his wife, and Peter is just yelling and throwing snowballs _everywhere_.

Søren tries to hide behind Torbjörn, who is having none of it and tackles him into the snow to delighted yells from Tuomi and their mother. While he watches Torbjörn try to shove snow down his brother’s coat, uncharacteristically gleeful, Eduard is practically bowled over by Lars and trips as well.

“Unhand me!” Søren yells, and manages to wriggle away, trying to catch his breath through laughter. “How old are you again?”

“Older than you,” Torbjörn says, flushed. Søren holds two fingers up at him, next to his forehead, which makes him raise his eyebrows.

Søren’s fingers look red, and he rubs his hands together as if trying to warm them. Eduard’s own hands are tingling with cold through his gloves, so he can imagine how unpleasant it is for him. When Søren goes back into the house, Eduard decides to follow him—the two of them definitely caught the brunt of that snowball fight.

Taking his shoes and coat off, Eduard walks into the kitchen to find Søren running a gentle stream of water over his fingers. The man grimaces at him when he spots him out of the corner of his eye. Eduard leans against the still-cluttered kitchen counter, taking a paper towel from the roll to clean his glasses again. He runs it over his face and hair as well, so at least it won’t drip.

“Does that help?” he asks Søren, flexing his own fingers. They’re feeling warmer already.

“Dunno, actually.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Can’t hurt, though. You’d think someone who needs their hands to speak’d be more careful with ‘em, huh?”

Eduard thinks about that, cocking his head. His cold hair flops across his forehead in that way it always ends up doing, despite his best efforts.

“Well, lots of singers are careless with their voices,” he says. “Stefan smoked.”

Søren looks sharply up at him, jerking his fingers inadvertently away from the tap. His hair has also gotten quite flat with moisture. It curls at the ends in a way that fascinates Eduard, who didn’t expect it to and whose own hair is never anything other than straight as a ruler.

“Your ex, Stefan?”

“Yes, but…” Eduard adjusts his glasses. “I suppose I was just thinking about him as our lead singer, this time.”

Søren nods, slowly. He flexes his fingers, discomfort tugging at his features.

“It was just an example,” Eduard says. He swallows, looking down at Søren’s hands and wringing his own together.

“You haven’t heard anything else from him, have you?”

“I… Have, actually. Tolys—my best friend—got a call.” He presses his lips together. Shakes his head. “He thought I should talk to him.”

At that, Søren makes a disbelieving noise.

“Really?”

Eduard shrugs. Søren starts to gesture, and grimaces again when he tries to move his cold fingers in a particular shape. With a deep breath, Eduard reaches out to clasp both hands between his own, and Søren completely stills, eyes wide. His breath is audible, but then, he probably wouldn’t know that.

“I’m not going to,” Eduard says, trying to pretend this is nothing out of the ordinary, while simultaneously trying not to look directly at Søren and attempting not to mumble either. “Talk to him, I mean.”

“Good,” Søren says, his fingers twitching between Eduard’s hands. He smiles that uncommon, gentle smile, and his eyes, when Eduard finally looks at them, are soft.

“Yeah. It’s—it has to be done, now.”

Smile not leaving his face, Søren parts his lips to say something else, but the backdoor slams open, and he doesn’t, lips twitching into a rueful smile instead. His fingers curl into Eduard’s, but he doesn’t move otherwise.

“Pie!” Peter yells, flying through the kitchen without paying attention to them. Torbjörn, who follows behind him, grumbles something about his shoes, then looks over the top of his foggy glasses at Søren and Eduard, squinting. Eduard doesn’t imagine he can see much, because as far as he knows, Torbjörn’s eyes are even worse than his own, but he slowly draws his hands back anyway, letting go of Søren. Besides, it’s likely that everyone else will soon follow to warm up. He doesn’t particularly want to talk about… This thing that just happened with his aunt or uncle.

Søren pulls his sleeves over his hands but leans close to Eduard just before the door opens again and Torbjörn puts his glasses back on.

“Thanks,” he almost-whispers, signing it so quickly with his hand mostly hidden that Eduard can’t follow it. He’ll ask later.

Now, he just nods, and the kitchen fills with people again, bringing the cold in and fogging the windows with their damp clothes. Even the lamp gets foggy for a while, but there is enough light from outside that it doesn’t bother anyone.

Since Søren is by the kitchen counter, he gets tasked with distributing apple pie, and Eduard doles out the remaining cider to those who want it. It’s not quite warm anymore, but it’s hot compared to the air outside, so that works out. Peter and Lars drink hot chocolate, and Eduard asks Søren’s mother if she has a recipe for the apple pie. She promises to send a photo of it to Søren so he can forward it.

“Since Søren isn’t interested in making it,” she adds, loudly enough to get Søren’s attention. He wasn’t paying attention, sat between them eating his pie, but seems to get what she’s talking about. His expression turns comically indignant.

“I like cooking!” he says. “I’m a great cook! Eduard thinks I’m a great cook.”

Eduard thinks about the dessert pizza and raises an eyebrow at him.

“ _Eduard_! You know what, come over for lunch tomorrow.”

He gestures at the kitchen. They’re having lunch _now_. Søren’s mother looks highly amused.

“I’m making lunch. C’mon, it’ll be fun.” He leans close to Eduard. “Yeah?”

“Alright, fine. But you better make something good, then.” He’s sure his team won’t mind if he has lunch without them; they never do anything useful during lunch meetings anyway.

Søren grins widely and winks, and then just turns back to his apple pie.

Torbjörn shakes his head at Eduard across the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanna write some LietPol now,, maybe even something in this same universe.
> 
> Note of the day is uh... Oh yeah! I somehow decided at some point that Czech is really fashionable, but like, _too_ fashionable. Like, she wears stuff that you'd really only expect to see in some sort of conceptual haute couture fashion show. I... Don't know where that particular headcanon has come from, but, you know, it works!
> 
> Also, shoutout to my boss who thought it was a good idea to hire new people who I, the least sociable person on the team, have to teach, in the middle of December. w h y


End file.
